


The Stars Between Us

by darlindear, Wander (yoimwander)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Military, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension, Space Marines, Texting, copious amounts of flirting, this is a pretty soft fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlindear/pseuds/darlindear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoimwander/pseuds/Wander
Summary: Enlisted in the UNSC, Sam and Isaac are paired together by chance in a long-distance "pen pal" program.
Relationships: Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez
Comments: 97
Kudos: 23





	1. Scene I

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so. Here we go again, with a new AU! This story is mostly text-based and the formatting reflects that. Honestly, this is best read on your phone. This is pre-merc, pre-bounty hunters, at a time where Isaac and Sam are a little more soft than the world made them out to be. Isaac is 23, Sam is 27. Disclaimer though, any military terms are gathered from a bit of online research, so we apologize for anything non-compliant with real terminology. And there are a few small details (like Sam's long hair, which otherwise might be buzzed off during basic) that we chock up to "it's the future tho."
> 
> We're about 10 scenes into the story already, but the formatting for this is kind of a pain in the ass. We'll aim for bi-weekly updates (if not a little more frequent).
> 
> If you have any suggestions on how to make the story more readable, please let us know! List of terms used can be found in the end notes.
> 
> Hope you like! ♥

This is Private First Class Samuel Ortez speaking. Yours is the number I was given for the _Across the Stars_ program.

Please state your name and rank.

  


Evening, Private.

This is Sergeant Gates of the Realm Four Echelon, just outside Andromeda galaxy.

Station?

I'm with the Alpha Phoenix platoon stationed on the Fox Five Terminal. Outer ring of Andromeda.

I apologize if I overstepped. I didn't realize the ATS would mix ranks, sir.

  


To be honest, I didn't think anyone above Lance Corporal had been added.

No harm in it though.

Where you from?

  


Earth. Colorado, USA.

  


Yeah?

I'm from Earth, myself.

Fuckin' Jersey.

  


I've never had the pleasure of visiting that state, sir.

Small world, though.

  


And you never will.

Because that shit ain't a pleasure. At all.

And enough with the sir, this is supposed to be less formal than all that, right?

  


Yes, sir.

I mean.

Fuck he's already gone and fucked it up.

I will do my best to refrain from the formalities.

What's so bad about New Jersey?

  


Good man.

This guy seems like a good one though, first impression is a good one.

And Jersey is just shit. All around bad time.

Always wanted to go out West myself, though I never got the chance when I signed up.

  


It's nice. More nature than not, if you pass through the right places. I haven't been back since I enlisted.

When did you sign up?

Sergeant. Which means, what, six months to PFC, nine to Lance Corporal, twelve more to ... Sam shakes his head. It's been a long day and numbers aren't sitting well in his head right now, so he foregoes the prediction and just lets it be.

  


Interesting. Must just be a kid, really. PFCs usually are, at least.

He wonders if the guy's home sick. To be so far away, gets to the newbies sometimes.

Few years back. Right outta high school, actually.

And shit, sometimes he forgets how young he is, actually.

You must be in the same boat, huh?

  


He tries to make the numbers make more sense, but his brain is more interested in slowing down to a crawl right now. Lying back in his cot doesn't help matters. His muscles ache.

Ah, no. I enlisted about a year ago, but not right out of high school.

Should he ask? _How old are you?_ This man is his superior. He'd relented the need for "sir" but Sam doesn't want to overstep, regardless.

  


Timeline seems right for a PFC, at least, but this guy may be a little different after all. Didn't join after high school, maybe a college drop out?

How old are you then, Ortez?

Curiosity has never been something easy to ignore. So he settles in for the long haul, thankful for his somewhat private room in the barracks.

  


27.

He'd been nicknamed Late Bloomer, oldest participant in basic, and the oldest PFC in the Alpha Phoenix platoon.

  


Ah, late bloomer, huh?

Quite late, actually.

You'll climb quick though. They always do.

  


That is what they call me, yes. Common nickname?

And, ah. Thank you, sir.

I mean. Sorry.

  


Mhm, pretty common, but only because you're a rare breed.

Loosen up though, you know how much work it would take to reprimand you, even if you did say something stupid?

Far too much, I'll tell ya that.

  


He does relax, just a bit, having been given the go ahead. It's almost lights out but Striker, his roommate, isn't back yet, which means the room is blessedly quiet.

Peaceful moments come few and far between.

Realm Four Echelon to Fox Five Terminal? I believe your sternly worded letter would arrive within five to ten business years.

Point taken.

I never knew older enlistees were considered rare, until I signed up.

  


_Exactly._ I got some pull, but I ain't about to waste my time with that shit.

But yeah man, it's usually kids getting away. What better way than to become a Space Marine, right?

Got a few in my platoon now, wet behind the ears. It's adorable.

  


For a moment, Sam wonders if his own commanding officer, Sergeant Forestall, has ever looked at him and the rest of the members of his platoon, and thought they were _adorable._

No, probably not. If all the yelling is anything to go by.

Sergeant Gates. No first name given. What kind of CO is he?

I suppose jumping to another galaxy would do the trick.

May I ask you something?

  


Go for it, man.

Like I said, we're vibing on the side of chill.

  


What gives them away? Someone being "wet behind the ears."

  


Oh hmm.

Just kinda expressive I guess? Easily impressed, or headstrong on the opposite end of that.

  


And you find these traits adorable.

Doesn't exactly mean to bring that wording into question, but it's curious. Sam's certain Forestall doesn't even know that word exists, let alone would be the sort of man to apply it to those beneath his command.

  


I mean yeah.

They're fuckin' ready to go and I love that shit.

I mean don't get me wrong, they all need a little polishing up, but that's what I'm here for.

  


You seem vastly different from my own platoon leader.

  


Yeah?

What's he like?

No wait, lemme guess. He's some hardass, right? Big bad tough guy who's like _back in my day blah blah._

  


That garners a laugh. One rushed huff of air that stumbles out Sam's mouth. He lies back in bed, already dressed down, phone propped on his chest.

Incredibly accurate, have you been spying on me?

Add in a healthy appreciation for corporal punishment and you have the guy pegged.

  


I mean I've dealt with the odd spy here or there, but never been one myself.

But yeah, no, I've seen the type around. I mean everyone's got their own approach, but I prefer the carrot over the stick.

  


God, what I wouldn't give for one raw carrot instead of no dinner and 500 laps.

Dealt with the odd spy? That sounds interesting. Is that your MOS then?

  


Mhm, that's the fast track to getting your subordinates in line, but also? There are better ways.

Some don't approve, but anyone in my platoon will toe the mark, so they don't complain too much.

My MOS is counterintelligence, though it's further classified. What's your track, Ortez?

  


I agree, there are probably better ways. But for now I listen and I obey, and that is good enough for me.

_Counterintelligence._ That's a much more difficult specialization to dip into. Sam blinks, and won't admit it to himself but certainly feels an inkling of intimidation at the fact. It takes a wildly intelligent person to veer towards that field.

Well I'm 03, in infantry. I'd like to specialize as a scout sniper.

He doesn't ask more about Gates' track. Classified, after all.

  


Good man. Don't be a kiss ass and I'm sure you'll get on well enough.

No one likes a kiss ass.

Sniper though, that's interesting. You seem like you've got the patience for it. Strike me as the strong silent type.

  


There it is again. The praise. _Good man._ It's really insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but for the last year Sam's been yelled at, berated, exercised to within an inch of his life, spat on, and not once has he been simply ... commended.

He rubs at the privately pleased feeling in his chest.

Noted.

And I hope I can be found worthy. I do have previous experience with rifles, from before I enlisted. It would be ...

A comfort? To handle a rifle again? That's an odd thing to say.

I would learn to lend well to it.

  


Be found worthy. Who is this guy?

It's endearing though, how Ortez _(Sam)_ just wants to do well, it seems.

You're on the right track. Listen, follow your orders, use your experience. You'll get where you're headed.

Make sure to take advantage of the promotion system as well. Comes around every few months, and if you can prove yourself to your CO, he could up your pay grade before your TIS/TIG is up.

  


You know when I was ordered to participate in this program, I never imagined I would be getting advice from a superior.

I'm afraid you got the short stick on this deal.

  


What makes you say that?

I sure as shit wouldn't wanna be in your shoes, got some dickhead ain't even your CO shoving shit down your throat.

  


"Shit" is not at all what you've been shoving down my throat.

Praise, more like. As subtle and throwaway as he's certain the other man considers it.

  


He laughs, full-bodied, at the reply he's given. One million percent certain this seemingly straight laced guy meant nothing by it, but honestly that's half the hilarity.

Alright then, call it what you will. Still, ain't never been much of a taker of it myself.

Giggles.

Wouldn't want to be paired with one of my superiors, no fuckin thanks.

  


You seem different.

  


I am, in a lot of ways.

Ain't all of em good, but I get on well enough.

  


What's your first name?

  


Oh. Interesting. He hadn't realized he never gave it. Force of habit, maybe.

Isaac.

  


_Isaac._ It's a good, strong name. Sam closes his eyes and envisions the letters spelled out in front of him, in the cloying dark. Like pale yellow lights drawing the lines. It's how he remembers names, faces. Blinks his eyelids back open after a moment, once he's certain this man's name has been burned into him.

It's a pleasure meeting you, Sergeant Isaac Gates.

I am not dissatisfied with the outcome of this program. Even if you are my superior.

  


He laughs again at the tone used with him. Isn't certain it would be any different even if he was a fellow private talking to this guy.

Decides to ask, though not unkindly.

Pleasure is all mine, I assure you.

Are you always like this?

  


Always like what?

  


So formal, I guess is a word for it.

  


Oh.

I'm just typing how I would talk. Not used to messaging someone for prolonged periods of time.

So, ah, yes. I suppose I am always like this.

  


Interesting.

Definitely reminds me that you're not a kid, as per usual for a PFC.

And just why are you of all people getting that punishment, hmm?

  


You mean the 500 laps and no dinner?

  


Jesus, must've been something pretty bad.

But yeah, that thing.

  


I didn't do anything.

It was a punishment metered out to my entire platoon after our CO found a porn mag my roommate was hiding.

I mean, who even reads paper anymore?

  


Okay so listen.

That's kinda fuckin' hilarious.

Not the punishment thing, that's pretty shitty, but that it was a _porny mag._ Gold.

Did he just not fess up or something? Seems like the punishment doesn't fit the crime to me.

  


My working theory is: our CO intended for the platoon to enact our own judgment on someone who didn't fall into line, and we would be more willing to do that if we were also punished for our squadmate's "crime."

It didn't really happen like that, though.

Striker admitted it was his immediately. He was hoping an early confession would spare the rest of the platoon.

It did not.

  


Alright.

Your CO is a prick. That's not how you breed loyalty in your soldiers.

What's his rank?

  


That comes as a surprise. Gates' swift and no-nonsense judgment. For a brief moment during their conversation the man had acted casually enough for Sam to relax as he'd been asked, and almost forget their difference in ranks.

The clear shift in attitude tickles up the back of Sam's neck until he can do nothing more than simply follow command.

Sergeant.

  


It's a power trip then.

He can't get any higher in the ranks so he uses whatever he can to make himself feel like the big guy on campus.

Not worth your time, you should transfer when you finish your classes.

  


_Oh._ That is certainly not the advice Sam had been expecting, despite Gates' sympathy to his situation. If anything, he figured a bright and callous "suck it up" was on the way.

This man is strange, isn't he?

I ... will take that into consideration.

Permission to speak my mind, sir?

  


Permission granted, Ortez.

Though you don't really have to ask, unless it's having to deal with this kinda thing I guess.

  


It would be difficult to leave my platoon.

I understand one cannot simply "drop out" of the UNSC, but I'm convinced my roommate, Striker, would find a way.

  


And he's _just_ your roommate?

Loyal to a man who's left you without dinner, and I'm doubting this is the first time.

  


He's my squadmate. That makes us family.

He ... means well.

  


Most idiots do.

He, of course, is thinking of his own roommate, Ray. Shakes his head with it, fond despite himself.

You can't save them all, just remember that Ortez.

  


Yes, sir.

But I can try.

  


Stupid, but commendable.

Just don't come crying to me when you don't succeed.

  


I don't cry.

He does, however, pass out from exhaustion with his phone still gripped tightly in hand, propped up on a steadily breathing chest.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Military Rankings** (as we understand them and as will be reflected in this story):  
> Private  
> Private First Class (PFC)  
> Lance Corporal  
> Corporal — Sergeant (kind of side-by-side in terms of authority)
> 
> That's right, Isaac is Sam's superior in this.
> 
> CO — Commanding Officer  
> MOS — Military Occupational Specialty (a soldier's job, we use Marine Corps MOS codes specifically, 02 is Intelligence and 03 is Infantry)  
> TIS / TIG — Time-In-Service / Time-In-Grade (from Google: Time in service is the total accumulated military service of the soldier and time in grade is the amount of service in their current paygrade). It takes a certain amount of TIS and TIG to get promoted to the next rank.


	2. Scene II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, a few late nights put me ahead of schedule. I was debating on whether or not to merge this scene with the next since it's so short. Decided to keep 'em separate, so I'm posting two in a row.
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos! Y'all are lovely~

It's Samuel Ortez PFC, again, sir.

It's been exactly one day. He speaks as if expecting Gates to have already forgotten him.

  


Yeah, soldier, I have your number saved now yknow.

Sup puddin cup?

  


I

What?

  


What what?

  


The …

Nickname?

  


Oohh. Oh yeah no, it's just a thing that I say I guess.

Unless you wanna be my lil pudding cup~

Giggling uncontrollably. Wouldn't be half as funny if this guy wasn't so straight laced.

  


I have no idea what that means but I feel confident I am not well suited for the job.

  


I wish I could see your face right now, I'm dying.

Really though, what's up?

  


I wanted your opinion on something.

Though thinking about it, I really have no idea of your schedule and whether or not I'm interrupting it.

  


I'm on early lunch today, so you're good.

And now I'm curious, my opinion on what?

  


What do I do if someone is falling behind but I want to help them but they just don't learn well?

I mean, how do I help, or teach? Surely you've had to deal with this problem before.

  


Huh.

Good guy. It's going to backfire on him at some point.

Depends, I guess.

Explain the situation.

  


Rote knowledge. We have a test coming up and a platoon member is underprepared but has sought my help.

I don't know how to teach. I've never had to study like this.

  


What do you mean, you've never had to study?

Are you just like super smart or something?

  


Photographic memory. I've never had to put effort into memorization, so my effort has always been put into dissecting the information rather than just retaining it.

Logic puzzles are fun.

  


Interesting.

I bet you're great at parties.

Okay though, why do you care about this guy?

  


Birthday parties are the only kind I've been to, and those are ... okay?

And he's part of my squad for one. But if the platoon's test average isn't above 70, it's 500 squats and no dinner or breakfast this time.

And he asked for my help.

  


A lot of good reasons to help this guy, then.

Alright, I'll bite.

You seem pretty genuine and I know every man likes to eat.

What's his problem?

  


We're being tested tomorrow on the parts of land vehicles.

Just have to name the components of a dismantled Warthog. But he has trouble retaining the information and I don't ... exactly understand how someone just _can't_ do that.

  


Okay well mister special, people just learn differently, right?

You got the big brain, but maybe your friend doesn't do well visually. He could need like something auditory like repeating it in a way he'll remember.

Something just different from what he's been trying.

  


People learn differently?

  


Mhm.

Like if you've got a photographic memory, it's probably harder to remember something if someone just tells you about it, right?

  


He blinks, thinking back to every name he's been told, and how he has to close his eyes and etch it into his brain with that pale yellow light, just to get the name to stick.

Hm.

Yes, actually.

Alright, I will try a different method with him. Thank you, sir.

  


Yeah?

Good man.

Report back to tell me if you pass.

Ah sorry, not report. That's not an order. It's just been one of those days.

  


Instinct drives him to stand a little stiffer when given a direct order. Though Isaac reneges immediately, Sam still has to force himself to relax limb by limb.

Order or not, I will let you know, sir.

And ... one of those days?

  


Stop with the sir, that doesn't help matters any.

But ... yeah. New recruits are bad enough, but we have a mission coming up and.

Well it requires tact my regimen have yet to develop.

  


You're worried for them?

  


My teams are the best, when we have time to mesh together.

My supervisors understand that to a degree, but this is time sensitive.

We can handle it. I'll make certain of it.

Long story short? _Yes_ , he's very worried.

  


He doesn't know much about this man, but gets a certain feeling that Isaac will do everything in his power to ensure the safety of his team.

Report back to tell me if you pass.

Goes for light, a chance.

  


He laughs, feeling minutely lighter for the moment.

Yes, sir.

How far are you looking to go with this, by the way?

I mean in the UNSC.

  


_Sir,_ that causes a grin. Something genuine and private. Though the look falls to a more serious line when he's asked that question. It toes close to a soft spot for him.

Unsure how far, but.

Until I die.

  


Jesus.

Way to make it sound shitty.

Fair enough though.

  


And you?

  


Same though, pretty much.

  


He doesn't ask why. Just like he wouldn't like to be asked why.

Given my status as "Late Bloomer," I'd say I have a few more good years before I keel over from old age.

  


I dunno, 27?

Basically an old man already.

  


Laughs, quietly.

Way to build up my self-esteem.

Though I suppose it's a CO's job to tear that down.

  


Why would I do that?

Especially you, you're old enough to know your strengths.

If I foster that confidence, wouldn't it just help you pursue the goals you have attached to it?

Only makes me look good in the long run.

  


Huh. Never thought of it that way.

I suppose I'm used to Forestall's perspective.

  


Most take that path.

That's why they're subpar and my platoon is the best~

  


I don't know, I think my platoon could rival yours.

  


Incorrect.

They're led by fear and resentment.

My men are loyal. Full stop.

  


And I know my tribe.

Squadmates, I mean.

They are very capable individuals, regardless of what leads them.

  


Capable, but how experienced?

Good men still need a leader they trust.

  


I

Well

Hm.

Fair enough.

It's an unfortunate thought, though.

  


What is?

  


That talent and dedication could be squandered here, if not given the right direction.

  


Okay listen I didn't mean it like …

I'm sure it's better than I've made it out to sound. With your CO.

  


No, I'm sure you are confident in your own abilities and those of your platoon.

It doesn't really matter to me whether Forestall's particular methods are beneficial or not. I am just a soldier.

  


You're a man with a life.

Much different.

  


Quite presumptuous of you, sir.

Said without venom.

  


He laughs, something worn and tired.

I know your type.

Don't worry though, I ain't asking about it.

Just stay the course, huh? Make sure your squad continues to eat.

  


Yes, sir.

After, he calls Barnaby into his room for another study session. This time, Sam tries talking it out, instead of sticking strictly to flash cards.

Does so with Isaac—Sergeant Gates—in mind.

  



	3. Scene III

It's been two weeks of radio silence on his end, but the mission is finally over. He messages first, exhausted, about to jump in the shower.

Sergeant Gates reporting in.

Mission complete.

  


He'd tried messaging once after their last conversation, with no reply. Had immediately dropped it. Gates is a busy man, after all, and Sam had found himself too immersed in his own classes to get hung up on it any more than the slight heavy feeling of disappointment at being dropped.

Which is why the sudden message comes unexpectedly. After some initial confusion at the formal words, Sam remembers his "order" from weeks ago, and immediately lightens.

Status?

I mean, what you can give of one.

Are you and your platoon okay?

  


It had been long and arduous for the travel alone, and that's not to mention the fact that they had been given false information.

We're all alive, a few worse for wear but they'll make it.

It was an ambush.

I'm now missing a toe. I hope this doesn't negatively affect our relationship.

  


He releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Everyone is alive.

Not unless you type with it.

An _ambush?_ That meant their intel was wrong. The thought makes Sam feel itchy somewhere in the back of his mind, but it isn't his place to comment on Gates' mission.

I'm glad you're okay. All of you.

  


Well shit, looks like I've been found out.

I'm a toe typer. Now we can never be together.

Leans against the cool, hard tile of the bathroom, just breathing. Sam's presence, oddly enough, is very grounding.

Thanks though, really. I was just about to jump in the shower, but I wanted you to know I wasn't ignoring you or anything.

Doesn't mention how he'd wanted to feel heard, how he wanted to feel connected to someone who isn't looking to him for guidance. There are no strings here, none but the ones he attaches to Sam himself.

  


Oh.

That's ... very kind. Sam swallows down the fact that he had thought he'd been discarded, the first man in this "pen pals" program to be found unworthy, or boring, or maybe too low on the totem pole, to bother with.

Gates had just been busy. As he'd initially suspected.

I appreciate that.

Take your shower. I'll be here. But if you do actually type to me with your feet, I can't promise I'll be here for long.

  


He laughs, lightened for the first time in days.

I can promise you that I don't.

How weird would that be?

I'm afraid of this shower though to be honest. I'm literally going to pass out and crack my head open.

Bleeding out naked isn't the way I want to go, Ortez.

  


Is there honestly a better way to die?

The image makes him laugh, even if it's a bit blurry. The space Sergeant Isaac Gates occupies in his mind has no discernible characteristics. Just a shifting mist.

He has no idea what the man even looks like, but finds he doesn't mind not knowing.

Just take a stool with you and sit down.

  


That's ridiculous, do you know how much shit I would get if anyone saw me?

I'll take death.

Though the better way would be going out in like heated battle, knives flying, guns blazing. Like goddamn Rambo okay.

  


I know exactly how much shit you would get but that's half the hilarity.

And knives? In this day and age. Knives.

  


Shut up, you're not even here to see 'the hilarity' so you can stuff it.

Also, knives are the best weapon.

  


No, but I have a vivid imagination.

And really? What makes you say that?

  


I'm sure you do, big guy.

He's tired enough to add the little nickname, doesn't think twice until he reads over the words.

Too familiar. Oops.

They're silent though, easily hidden, can be a long range or short range weapon, and they never run out of bullets. Easy.

  


_Big guy_ where did that come from? Sam blinks at the moniker but makes no mention of it. Isaac must be exhausted.

It sounds like you have quite the affinity for them.

  


They're far more reliable than a gun.

Though I'm good at handling one of those just the same.

  


I'm sure you are. It's standard training.

Are you still afraid of that shower? Because I have an idea if you are amenable.

  


Idea me, I need it.

  


Give me a number I can contact.

If you don't reply to me within a certain amount of time, I can call that number. Have someone check on you.

  


Oh.

Very practical, actually. A good idea. Only …

Nah, that's alright. I'll just keep talking to you and if I don't reply you'll know I've died.

Easy~

  


Sam sighs heavily, but doesn't protest, that sense of "soldier speaking to a superior" still ingrained in his brain. He does, however, begin a search for Realm Four Echelon's contact code, so he can at least call the station if Gates loses consciousness at any one point.

Alright.

If at any one point it takes you more than 5 minutes to reply, I will call your station to check up on you.

  


Really there's no need for all that.

Besides, Lord knows if I don't show up to our room, Ray will throw the biggest shit fit.

You’ll hear it from there.

  


Yes, but you could be

_Dead by then._

Are you ordering me to stand down in that regard?

  


I'm not fit for ordering you to do anything, Ortez.

  


_Not fit,_ okay. Sam blinks. Isn't sure what to do about seeing a superior show such humanity. But. Isaac is right. He's not in any way related to Gates' platoon, and though Sam cannot throw away his need to show respect to a man above him, he sees now that Isaac is just ... tired.

Have I told you about Striker yet, my roommate?

I mean, aside from the debacle with the porn mag.

  


You haven't.

What's up with him? Seems like a pretty standup guy from what I know.

  


He's a loyal friend and a dedicated soldier.

Incredibly clumsy, however. And he won't _shut up_ about all the imaginary women he's dated.

I think the man is addicted.

  


This gets another laugh from him, lighter this time.

How do you know they're imaginary, hmm?

  


Because he looks and acts like, well. _Him._ And all the women he's described must be models or movie stars.

And I can tell when someone's stretching the truth.

  


Alright alright, point taken I guess.

You seem like opposites.

  


In that I don't fabricate vivid stories of wild relations, yes, quite different.

  


You seem far more reserved, I mean.

Though I'm sure you get a lotta women too~

  


I'm not interested in women.

  


Oh.

My bad, dudes then.

  


Pauses, because he didn't exactly mean it like that, but he doesn't know how to take back the words without fumbling around like an actual fool.

I get a lot of no one.

I've not deigned to take shore leave, yet.

  


Oohh, that's rough then.

You need to keep up social interaction for your mental health, y'know.

And it's not a big deal.

The gay thing.

Not to me I mean, that would be super hypocritical of me, _hah._ So yeah. Just. Letting you know.

  


Alright, well shit. He'd been typing out something to correct that misunderstanding, _the gay thing,_ but then Isaac veritably comes out to him and that makes Sam pause. Because if he took that back now, would it come across as being unaccepting of Isaac's own ... stuff? Like, the other man has been nothing but polite and easy and kind to him, and if Sam pulls his hand back too suddenly, it could be seen as him being judgmental of Isaac. Right?

Fuck, why are people so difficult to talk to?

I'm not the best at social interaction.

The deepest truth he's perhaps ever spoken. For now, he decides to just ignore the gay comment. It doesn't matter, anyways. For him, and certainly not for his opinion of Isaac.

  


Happens.

The guy doesn't say anything else about it. Shy maybe? It's sweet in a way.

Still, you should go out sometime. Change of scenery is good for ya just the same.

  


I will take that into consideration.

The nearest planet is a tropical one.

  


Oh God, I'm so jealous.

Ours is a fucking iced over garbage rock.

You have to go now so I can live vicariously through you.

  


That gets a surprised laugh.

What, you don't like cold climates?

  


I have poor circulation okay.

I'm freezing right now and I'm just fully clothed in the bathroom.

  


I could have sworn you mentioned a shower several hours ago but maybe I'm just hallucinating.

  


...

It hasn't been that long, you're fibbin.

  


Years have gone by. My hair has grown out. I've come into possession of a thick white beard that is now so long I'm not even sure how to cut it anymore.

  


...

I very much dislike you.

What happened to the sirs, huh? When did you get so Daddy?

Sassy.

  


The sirs will return whenever you would like them.

And I'm not daddy or sassy. Just excited to have a full stomach tonight.

We passed our test, by the way.

  


Fuck yeah you did.

Such a team player. You'll be a Sergeant in no time.

  


Warmth bubbles in his chest at the approval, but simmers down soon after.

I'm not sure I want to be.

  


Yeah?

Why's that?

  


I don't want to be responsible for anyone's life. Not in that way.

  


Do you not already feel that sense?

I just mean from what you've said to me, you already care for your tribe. You're going to save everyone, remember?

  


With all due respect, that's different.

Helping someone, even saving someone in the field, that's reactionary. We follow orders and do our best to finish the job, survive it.

But issuing those orders, putting someone's life in danger, _making the conscious decision to do so_ even if it is for the greater good …

Different.

  


Hmm.

I guess so.

It doesn't feel different from where I'm standing. I still follow those same orders. I go where they go.

  


They rely on you.

I'm not the sort of person who should be relied on.

  


I don't much think you've got that figured out yet.

Just from personal experience.

I'll let it go though. Has it really been an hour since I said I was gonna shower?

  


52 minutes at the time of this message.

  


Alright.

Feels like a shut down, if he's ever felt one. Struck a nerve maybe.

I'm going to jump in then.

Have a good night, Ortez.

  


Let me know when you're done.

I would appreciate it.

  


Sure thing bud.

  



	4. Scene IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays ya'll. ♥

First shore leave, as per your suggestion. Spending a weekend down at Gem Shore.

It's hot.

How are you?

  


Oh my fucking God I'm so actually jealous.

  


You asked to live vicariously through me.

  


It's not as fun as I'd hoped okay.

I bet there's eye candy everywhere.

And drinks I would kill a man for some rum right now.

  


You mean this:

It's called a Killer Bee. I've never had one before, but it has rum in it.

  


I hate you.

I bet it's so good ugh

  


Aw, don't say that. I'm bringing you on vacation with me, after all.

And it is quite good. I'm on drink number 3.

  


Lookit you, loosening up~

Honestly didn't know you had it in ya, big guy.

Also I hope you're not like tiny, that nickname is sticking.

  


If I was tiny the nickname would be even more hilarious. Though I'm unsure what brought it on.

Not complaining, though.

  


I dunno either, actually. It just came to my brain and out my mouth.

As most thoughts do.

  


Technically out your fingers.

And by the way, of course I know how to loosen up. Just. Takes some liquor to help me along.

  


Sassy as ever in your drunken stupor, I see.

  


_Stupor,_ I am barely more than buzzed I'll have you know.

  


Uh huh uh huh.

God though, here I am teaching these losers and you're out living it up.

I'm about to put in for a transfer, you got a bunk available?

  


Well Striker is already my roommate so I don't

_Oh,_ wait, you mean in general.

I'd have to check with Sergeant Forestall, but we both know you'd miss your platoon.

  


I mean

Your platoon would become mine, first of all. Forestall would go on the back burner.

I'll just bring all of em along.

You'd like Ray, he's a hoot.

  


That doesn't sound like protocol.

The image is amusing, though. Isaac (some faceless mist) waltzing up in there to take Sam's platoon and merge it with his own. Like he owns the place.

  


Protocol schmotocol.

I'll be running this place soon enough and I'll do what I want.

  


Running this place?

How far are you looking to go?

  


As far as I can.

I'm not the type to settle for mediocrity.

  


No, you don't seem it.

In the meantime, you could probably just have our platoons transferred. Give us the shitty garbage ice planet and you can take over Fox Five Terminal and the Gem Shore.

Though I would be very cross with you if you did that while I'm on leave. I'm not keen on being abandoned on this planet.

  


Why would I take you away from somewhere nice just because I wanna be there?

Cmon Ortez, I ain't that big of a dick.

  


Ah.

That just …

I don't know. Forgive my presumptions.

  


You're just one silly _goose._

You're forgiven~

Make your next drink a Dark n Stormy, pour some out for me.

  


Only if pouring some out for you involves pouring it directly into my mouth.

I'm not made of money, you know.

Said mostly in jest, relieved he hadn't overstepped.

  


I'll wire you a few credits, then, how bout that?

  


Ah, that won't be necessary. I've saved up.

What's in a Dark n Stormy?

  


Ginger beer and rum.

It's my go to.

  


Oh. That sounds really nice. I'll order it now.

He actually orders two.

So I realized the other day that I don't really know much of anything about you.

  


Did you now?

He's moved onto paperwork. Glamorous. But is actually thinking about a leave of his own. Or maybe just a quick hop planetside for a few drinks on his next day off.

  


Mmhm.

Like if you like animals or what music you listen to or what colors are your favorite.

He's pretty sure the point of this program was to foster friendships across the UNSC. But then again, he doesn't know if presuming such a thing from Isaac would be breaking rank.

  


You've never asked, to be honest.

  


No, I have not.

It seems childish, but. I'm curious all the same.

  


It's not childish.

This program is meant to foster healthy relationships outside of one's own platoon.

  


Yes, but.

  


Hmm?

  


Is it inappropriate of me to ask these things of you? Given your station.

  


I'm not your direct superior.

We aren't even in the same solar system.

Plus, if they didn't want mixed ranks speaking, they wouldn't have given you my number.

  


Fair enough.

Do you mind, then?

  


Nope.

If I don't want to tell you something, I just won't.

Ezpz

  


Alright.

Ah, the drink just arrived. I got one for you, too:

You're a little shit.

It's cute though, damn. He's left grinning, shaking his head.

Why couldn't you be in my platoon, hmm?

  


The stars just didn't align that way I suppose. Though I'm kind of glad for it.

This drink is rather good. The ginger beer. Wow. I might have a new favorite.

  


What do you mean, why are you glad for it?

  


If you were my CO starting out, I would have embarrassed myself beyond redemption to even think of getting to know you as anything other than my commanding officer.

Now my chances of embarrassment have been reduced by at least 30%.

  


_Hah._

You're an interesting little bird, yknow that?

It's not like we'll ever meet, anyway.

Which is ... A little sad, actually. He's come to know this person over time. Finds he actually likes Sam. More than anyone else, really.

  


You make up 90% of my social interaction. Meeting in person or not doesn't lessen the

The what? The impact Isaac has already had on his existence? Small bits of advice here and there. Just having someone to talk to at the end of the day. It's kept his morale much higher than it had been just a couple months ago.

Well, regardless, I like to think we have met.

  


90%??

No wonder you've started drinking.

  


Laughs, sipping on the drink in question.

You are way off base if you think speaking to you drives me to drink.

  


It's been known to, honestly.

I'm not easily digestible in most social situations.

  


I find that hard to believe.

  


Yeah well you're not great at social things sooo

I don't think you get a vote~

  


Alright. What's your vice, then? Drink so much you rip off your shirt and start dancing on the tables?

  


Nope.

Try again.

  


Hm.

Too chatty, then? You explain the most nonsensical facts in the greatest of detail.

  


Closer.

  


Habitual liar. Every story is a fabrication on the grandest scale.

  


What, _no,_ I'm upstanding even when pissed.

  


Okay, okay.

You get handsy? Touching, hugging, kissing?

  


Okay welp.

Something like that, I guess.

  


Oh?

_Success!_ He grins.

I love a good guessing game. How accurate was I?

  


You're so weird.

  


Not the first time I've been told that.

  


I mean it fondly, if that helps?

  


I never took it as an insult from you.

So. You're a handsy drunk. And that's why you think you aren't "easily digestible" in social situations?

  


A bit, yeah.

It's not acceptable for my rank, and now people are watching.

  


Hm.

Are you attractive, then?

  


I mean isn't that a biased question?

  


Not necessarily.

I can inform you with confidence that I am not attractive.

So I suppose it depends on your ability to look at yourself with a critical eye.

  


I like to think that I look pretty good. Look a little older than I am, but that's fine.

But see now I'm just like why do you say you're not attractive?

  


Because I'm not.

End of discussion.

So if you get handsy and you're attractive, then you probably get the kind of attention you'd like. I don't see much of a problem there.

  


Oof. Touchy. It happens at times, but it always feels like there's something more.

He's just not at liberty to ask.

Like I said, it's inappropriate for my rank.

My superiors are highly judgemental when it comes to that sorta thing.

I just don't drink, solves the problem.

  


Well.

That sucks for you.

I didn't realize something like that would be considered inappropriate. Consenting parties, and all.

  


Sleeping around ain't exactly a no-no, but I'm looking to move up.

Gotta set the right example yadda yadda.

So it's a good thing I'm stationed where I am I guess. The locals ain't great and there's no way I'm touching any of my platoon.

  


It could be the amount of alcohol (he's already halfway through that Dark n Stormy, marking his 5th drink) or the balmy air or just that this man makes him feel relaxed, but Sam finds himself leaning casually into his chair, head a bit swimmy, and shedding a bit of that formality that he usually carries around with him.

You seem like a good man.

For all it's worth, I don't think having a superior who takes pleasure where he can find it would lessen my opinion of him.

  


A good man.

He isn't, but maybe working to make his platoon into good men and women feels like a bandage on that ripped up part of his soul.

He can't repent, but helping his squad is the closest he's ever gonna get.

Thanks for that, big guy.

  


Anytime.

Now, I have an important question for you.

If you were an animal, what would you be?

Striker had asked him once. The guy loves his ridiculous questions. Sam had found it silly at the time. But it had felt good, to consider something of himself and share it in turn.

He kind of wants Isaac to feel that way, too.

  


Important.

It's Sam who's a whole different animal when buzzed, apparently.

  


What? It's vital I know.

  


I dunno, I've never thought about it?

Something thin and dangerous I guess.

  


Like, a praying mantis or a malnourished cheetah?

  


Probably the second one.

Female praying mantis are more dominant in the species, I'd have my head taken off immediately trying to get in on that.

  


Oh.

You like both, then?

  


I'm equal opportunity.

  


And thus the galaxy rejoices, I'm sure.

  


Past tense, but yes, actually.

I'm a goddamn catch.

  


Do they expect you to be celibate for the rest of your term?

  


Dating is different than sleeping around, I guess.

I'm not the dating type sooo until I'm out from under the microscope, I suppose so.

  


Huh.

I see your side more, to be honest. What's the point in a relationship in this line of work, anyways? Constant transfers, death.

No, it's better not to get attached.

  


My thoughts exactly.

I already have my platoon, I already have to watch ...

Well, you get the point.

So have another drink for me as I finish up this paperwork.

  


_Paperwork._ Wow. Exhibitionism.

Exhilarating, I mean.

  


You know autocorrect is something that you type pretty often, right?

Soooo, now I'm curious.

  


It isn't me.

I mean, it's not my fault.

  


Oh my God you're _drunk._

And just whose fault would it be hmm?

  


Let's just say the conversations I am dragged into with Striker are

Uh.

I've decided to plead the fifth.

  


Nope, unacceptable.

Spill.

  


He's _nosy_ alright?

Almost rivals you.

  


You've seen nothing yet.

Tell me of these conversations.

  


I have literally no incentive to do that.

  


Now I'm just jealous and you're having better conversations with _another man._

  


I

Wait what wait _no,_ Striker is _not_

And Isaac isn't like that either because Sam _isn't_ ...

He's a sex starved woman addicted dolt who just likes to talk about _things_ too much.

  


That sounds interesting though, I bet you two have a lot of fun~

  


I honestly can't tell if you mean that, or if you're implying something.

  


Me?

Implying something?

I would never.

  


...

You _are._

I'm buying another Dark n Stormy just so I can chug it and send you a picture of the empty glass.

  


Aww, big mad.

  


My retribution will be swift and merciless.

  


And just what, pray tell, could you do to me, hmm?

  


Send you a crate of rum you can't drink, for one.

  


You don't have credits for a crate of rum, for one.

And for another I'd just drunk it in my room with good ole Ray.

  


And here I thought you had restrictions on sleeping around.

  


Ray loves me, we're don't ask don't tell.

  


_What does that even mean._

  


No one asks what we get up to, so we don't tell.

Simple.

  


Alright then I will not be sending you a crate of rum.

Isaac's right. He doesn't have the credits.

But I will figure out something. I always do.

  


Mhm, you don't scare me~

  


Understandable. You've no idea what I'm capable of.

Yet.

  


Give it your best shot, Private~

  


Tell me your weaknesses.

Alcohol drives him to a candid state.

  


Tall men with nice hair and broad shoulders.

A bagel with a good schmeer.

Pickle flavored chips.

  


Oh.

That was cute.

I bet you're proud of yourself for that one.

  


I'm adorable, I know~

  


No one said that.

  


Uh huh.

  


_I_ didn’t say that.

  


_Uh huh._

  


You're incorrigible and I'm going to go swim in the ocean now.

  


Ugh.

You're mean.

  


Two can play your game, you know.

Don't worry, I'll send pictures.

  


Send noods.

  


Now why would I go and do a thing like that when you already have this "don't ask don't tell" deal with Ray already, hm?

  


Don't be jealous, baby, you could be my everything if you just asked~

  


Can I be the man you never say that to again, if I just ask?

  


So rude, you have great conversations with Striker but shut me out, huh?

I see how it is.

  


I would hardly consider my conversations with Striker "great."

  


Seem fun to me.

Telling a grown man, constantly, "no, that woman is not flirting with you" and "no, she's not giving you a _look,_ " and "no, you cannot hide your handmade fleshlight beneath _my_ mattress," is not my definition of _fun._

  


_Handmade fleshlight??_

Okay fuck that's hilarious I need to see it.

He actually sounds fucking great, annoying, but very amusing.

  


Try living with it.

But he's shaking his head in good humor.

So yeah, sometimes we get some downtime and the conversations turn explicit. It's easy for him. His sex drive is off the charts.

  


It's not so easy for you, I'm taking it?

  


Mm. No, not really.

  


Hmm, I could see that for you.

Strong and silent and reserved as you seem to be.

  


Tall and dark, too.

Maybe I should put you in charge of my dating profile.

  


Listen, I would bring all the boys to your yard, my friend.

  


_Oh,_ that's right, Isaac still thinks Sam's preference lies with men. Well, it doesn't matter anyways. He's not actually looking.

I've no doubt of that.

You have a way about you, after all.

  


Hmm?

What way is that?

  


Enigmatic. Open. You're easy to talk to.

You're like gravity, I guess. You pull people in.

  


A gift and a curse, I assure you.

  


The gift being that you could bring _all the boys_ to my yard, and the curse being they would only follow you to yours, anyways?

  


I'm certain you could make a few stick around.

  


I'm not actually looking, you know.

Also are my eyes deceiving me or did you call me a friend, earlier?

  


Are we not?

  


I

Yeah, I mean yes, that would be nice.

Just didn't know if you 

Ah, it doesn't matter.

  


If I what?

Thought of you like that?

  


Yeah.

I do.

I appreciate your company.

  


Oh.

That warmth in his chest, again. He hasn't felt it for a while. But it's the same one that had lit itself when Isaac had casually called him a good man for his efforts, his loyalty to his platoon.

Sam rubs just there. Stands on somewhat wobbly legs.

I think I'm drunk. If I don't reply soon I've accidentally drowned myself in the ocean.

  


Stick to the shallows, you'll be fine.

  


Aye aye captain.

  



	5. Scene V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind comments! I'm getting in the groove of formatting so expected updates will be bumped to weekly (if not more than that). At least a new chapter every Saturday, barring extreme circumstances.
> 
> Also, our first "prose" chapter is coming up soon! There will be more of those, interspersed with text scenes.
> 
> \---

Did you get my package? Have you opened it yet?

  


What?

No I haven't checked mail. I never get mail.

Confused, stunned. Why would Ortez send him anything in the first place?

What is it? I'll go find the mailroom.

  


Well, now you get mail.

And it's a surprise! Tell me when you get it.

  


Alright alright.

Like but also _why?_

  


Because I wanted to?

He pauses. Blinks. Wait. Did he overstep here?

Is that weird? It's weird, isn't it.

  


It is weird, but not for the reasons Sam might think.

No, it's not.

I just. Don't get things. From people.

Anyway I'm in the mailroom now, grabbing it and heading back to my room.

  


I'm not people I'm your friend.

Something he's tried to take to heart over the last few weeks. After he'd gotten back from shore leave he'd reread his messages to Isaac and been _mortified_ by his own loose tongue. But the man ( _Sergeant_ Gates, his clear superior) hadn't seemed to mind.

Soon after, he'd received a care package from his parents back on Earth. And that had given him a bit of an idea.

  


Yeah well I ain't got none of those either.

Present company excluded.

  


That makes me either very privileged or incredibly cursed.

  


Let's go with both, how about that?

Why is this so heavy?

Did you get me half a dead man?

  


Why would I ship half a dead man to you?

For the first package, at least. It needs a little more build-up than that.

  


Listen you said you'd get me back, I'm taking that to heart.

Reaches his room rather swiftly, settling the box on his bed. It's large, heavy. He isn't wary of the contents, but at the same time …

I'm scared.

Mostly of the heavy, heated feeling in his chest.

  


I was piss drunk and have no actual intention of "getting back" at you.

Unless it's a harmless prank.

Sending you a severed corpse would not be a harmless prank.

  


Alright okay, I get it.

The warm feeling doesn't lessen as he opens the box. Expounds when he realizes what's inside.

Sam.

What is

Why did

Why does he feel so overwhelmed? He sits on his bed, staring into the box.

  


Is it okay? I mean, I know you don't have anywhere tropical to go for shore leave but I thought, maybe, I could. I guess bring it to you?

He'd sent a handful of things. Ginger beer, rum, lime juice so Isaac could make his own Dark n Stormy. A glass jar he'd grabbed on planet and filled with white sand and seawater. And of course the silly little bracelet he'd been working on, a totem of good luck—he'd made a matching one for himself, currently resting on his wrist, that he fiddles with anxiously.

Maybe it was too much. But then again, Sam had _wanted_ to give Isaac these things.

  


It's probably the most goddamn thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for him.

He had his platoon, yes, but they weren't friends. He had superiors and peers, hell even he and Ray weren't terribly close. Not like this.

No I mean it's not _not_ okay.

It's fine. That you sent me stuff.

And it's stuff that I like, even.

Probably for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to say.

  


Stuff that he likes. Sam relaxes, slowly, the pressure sitting on his chest lessening with the words. Isaac doesn't seem angry, just. Surprised.

You really don't get mail, do you?

  


I've never gotten any mail, no.

_I have no one._

He's still stunned as he pulls everything out, nice and slow.

Honestly skims over the booze to zero in on the other things. Softer things that make his chest hurt. A glass filled with sea and sand, it feels sun warm in his hands. Sets it between his knees to pull out the last item.

A bracelet. It's strong, made of some deep brown leathers, braided. By ... hand? It stands out stark against his pale skin as he slides it on.

  


Well.

You should check it more often.

Outdated means of communication is my favorite, you know.

Going for light. To ease the tension he'd felt just moments ago, yes, but that effort doesn't mean he can't put two and two together.

Isaac doesn't have anyone who would send him something to begin with. Alone, maybe. Forgotten.

Sam decides he will not let this man remain so.

  


I know now, apparently.

He's still a little shocked by it. Fiddles with the bracelet around his wrist, stares into the pure white sand.

Thank you. You're uh.

Yeah.

  


I'm what?

Oh, and I hope the bracelet fits. It's adjustable but I didn't really know what length to start with, so ... yeah.

  


Kind.

And it does. Fit, I mean.

Wait though what do you mean? You _made_ it?

  


Oh. That's ... Sam's not sure what to say to it. Only knows he feels more endeared to this man by the day.

It's nice to have a friend out here.

Yeah, of course. It's tradition. The bracelet is meant for protection and good luck.

  


What kinda tradition is that?

He stares down at it, not having really believed in anything like that in his life, he suddenly feels very attached to the idea. Traces over the braiding.

  


He tilts his head. Might usually give a quick explanation but he's feeling endeared and connected to this man right now, so provides him the real answer.

Before heading out to war, ancestors of my tribe used to adorn handmade jewelry usually crafted from the hide of their most recent hunt.

Tribal members would make bracelets, necklaces, things like that. They wove their protection and good spirits into the braid.

It was a way for them to watch over those they cared about, even if they couldn't be right next to them.

_And you're my friend now, and_ okay yeah time to shut up.

  


Oh.

_Oh._

Doesn't know what to say, barely knows what to feel. To have such a thing given to him feels deeper than it should, like some strong thread connecting them has been given a harsh tug.

Your tribe?

Native American?

  


Cherokee, yes.

Well, on my mother's side. I'm technically only half.

  


The image of this man in his head fades to black, only to return with dark mocha skin. There is no real focus to a face, but he knows Sam is tall, and dark he'd said, dark hair and now dark skinned.

It makes sense that you would use that word to describe your platoon now.

  


Ha, I suppose it does.

Your tribe is what you make it. Not the blood they're born with.

  


I'll drink to that thought.

And I'm part of your tribe now? Even though you've never seen me? Probably never will.

  


"Part of his tribe" would be underselling it. Sam hasn't made a bracelet for anyone else. But he doesn't mention that fact.

Yes.

It doesn't matter if I never see you. I'll get to know you, and that is enough.

  


Soothed, grounded. This man makes him feel known.

For me too.

And now, a drink.

  


Shit.

I forgot to send a cup.

  


Laughs out loud, bright and happy.

I can grab one from the mess, no problem.

Hmm though where to stash it all so I don't have to share with Ray?

  


"Beneath the mattress" seems to be the go-to for my platoon.

Adversely, you could put a sticky note on the rum and beer that says "liquid vegetables."

Unless your roommate _really loves_ liquid vegetables.

  


...

I think you're a genius.

Guy's denser than a literal black hole.

  


Laughs, pleased.

Be careful he doesn't suck you in, then.

I'd miss

Oh, uh. Overtell, probably.

Our conversations.

  


_You'd miss me._

  


I don't much like being called out like that.

  


I just calls it as I sees it, big guy~

  


You better find a pad of sticky notes before that black hole of yours comes back.

That leaves you with hardly any time to tease me, now doesn't it? Oh no. What a shame.

  


I could literally tell him to cover his eyes until I'm good and well finished and he'd never have a clue.

I could devote my life to teasing you if I wanted.

  


... you're kidding, right? That's ridiculous.

It makes him laugh, though. Loud enough for Striker to give him a look from across the room. Sam huddles down on his bed, curled around his phone protectively.

And I'm sure you would get bored with teasing me eventually. I'm a patient man. I can wait.

  


I really don't think I would.

You're mine now, just have to deal with it.

  


_Yours_ now, huh?

A flash of warmth. Unexplainable. Sam doesn't know where to put it.

Mr. "I'm not in direct command over you, I can't do anything to you anyways so loosen up"?

  


Not in a _command_ way, though that's pretty kinky.

Just in the way that I'm now a barnacle stuck to your back, one you can't reach but it's pretty annoying. Just like fuckin super glued on there.

  


I've never met a barnacle as vividly descriptive and talkative as you.

Friends. It's ... nice. To have someone like Isaac. Someone he knows he can trust.

  


Yeah well I'm an enigma, remember?

  


Yeah you are.

Have a drink for me too. My first official field mission is in a couple weeks.

  


Oohh yeah?

Very exciting~ big thing or just getting your feet wet?

  


Feet wet. It seems simple enough, but Forestall has doubled our workout regimen in preparation. Not that I mind. I'd rather be over prepared than not.

  


I kinda hate that guy.

Don't overwork yourself, you don't want your body to be in a regenerative mode when you need it to work for you.

  


He's just doing what he thinks is best, I guess.

Plus side, no "starvation" punishments while we prepare for the big day.

But noted. I'll cut out my own personal routine in the meantime.

  


_Good,_ on both accounts.

Btw what foods do you like?

  


In terms of rations, "chicken" and "vegetable soup" and "meat." Even if I'm not really sure what meat they're referring to.

In terms of actual human food, a variety of things.

  


Not rations, tell me something real.

  


Watermelons. Squash soup. Chicken marsala. Some of my favorites.

  


Alright, I can work with that.

  


Work with what?

It clicks, finally.

Oh! I didn't I

— mean. You don't have to do anything. In return.

  


Who says I am?

He is.

But it feels softer than just reciprocation. He wants to do something for this man.

  


I know how to read between the lines, Isaac.

Pauses just after sending the message. It's the first time he'd used the other man's first name. At least to the guy's face. He hadn't thought twice about it before hitting send, though.

  


_Isaac._

When's the last time someone actually called him that? He can't remember.

Fine then, what if I just want to, hmm?

You can hide snacks away in your room for when your CO decides to be a dick.

  


If you just want to then ... yeah, I mean. Of course you can send me things.

What is that rapid beating in his chest? Why does he feel warm from head to toe?

I just didn't want you to think you had to, you know?

Snacks would be appreciated. But if I'm caught with them during a punishment, it's going to be hell over here.

  


Hmm.

Have you tried stashing anything in the ventilation system?

  


......

You're a genius.

  


Fuck yeah I am~

  


Do you ever just sit so close to a problem that you start to forget there are other ways to solve it?

Like, ventilation system, lovely idea.

But for some reason the only hideout my brain could perceive was "under the mattress." Like some sort of bone-deep tradition in my platoon.

  


He laughs out loud, endeared.

That makes sense, but sometimes you gotta be what's better~

Also, word from the wise here, be particular about the vent thing. Don't put anything easily spoiled, don't overfill, and _don't tell Striker._

  


_Sometimes you gotta be what's better._ The words sink deep and Sam blinks at his phone. Shakes himself a moment later.

Alright. I won't tell Striker. Anything you give me is mine.

  


Good man.

Lookit you, growin up so fast~

  


Why does that praise feel good _every time,_ is the real question here.

It's good advice to follow.

And I don't want to share what you give me.

  


Fondness grows wild in his chest.

I don't particularly like the thought of you sharing either.

I sure as hell ain't.

  


Then it's settled.

Only we get to be privy to our impromptu "don't ask don't tell" gift exchange program.

  


Good idea all around.

Ray already asks about you enough as it is

  


_Oh,_ huh. That's ... unexpected.

He knows I exist?

  


Yeah, course he does.

I talk to you all the time.

  


And here I thought I was the only one noticeably glued to my phone.

  


Nope, it's uh

Kinda funny. No one else really has my number besides my superiors.

So it's obvious now that I've got someone else.

  


No one else really has his number. This information does certain things to Sam that simple facts should not. He's reminded again of how alone Isaac must be. To have no contact outside of UNSC personnel. Sam supposes that problem isn't so prominent when someone is affable enough to find company wherever he goes, but Isaac has said it himself, hasn't he?

Company leads to drinking, alcohol leads to a certain mood, and that leads to finding someone to warm his bed. Only he's in line for a promotion and being _watched_ and can't exactly seek out company in that way.

Thus, alone.

Sam realizes, suddenly, that he's an outlier in this man's life right now. A friend to speak to, who doesn't answer directly to him, and who Isaac doesn't answer directly to, either.

They're jealous, aren't they?

He tries to alleviate some of that sympathetic tightness with a bit of hot air, a laugh, a soft noise somewhere in the vast collection of stars that separate them.

  


Incredibly, I'm certain.

Ray is, actually, but in that weird Ray way where he's just on my ass.

  


I could have sworn at some point you said you two were don't ask don't tell, and yet here you've gone and told me.

  


Okay but _not like that._

  


Sure about that, hm?

  


Please don't put that image in my head.

  


Laughs, bright and pleased.

And just why not? Is he not your type or something?

  


Okay listen, I don't even have a type _but yes._

  


Ah, not _not_ your type, but your anti-type, I see.

So you're not picky? I mean, in terms of appearance.

  


Hmm. No and yes.

I mean pretty or handsome is relative? Almost everyone can be attractive in their own way.

  


Oh?

How so? I thought people were usually interested in certain features above most else.

  


Personality is a big factor.

If someone's lacking in an area, the personality brings them back up.

  


Hm.

Yes, that makes sense. Though surely there is _something_ that is a hard stop for you, visually. Buck teeth. A lazy eye. Scars.

  


Uhh maybeee

Weird eyes, but only cause _which do I look at._

Scars are sexy though. Not like fetish but like they just show how strong the person is, in a way.

The ability to endure.

  


_The ability to endure._ Sam swallows heavily. Reaches up on instinct to trace one line that cuts diagonally across his face—from brow to nose. Drops his hand into his lap as soon as he recognizes the motion.

That's an interesting way to see it.

And you look at the eye that's looking at you, obviously.

  


Is that obvious?

  


Yeah. So like, if you're standing face to face, you probably look at the normal eye.

But if you're standing to the side, the lazy one has no doubt drifted in your direction and you should address that one directly.

  


How about

I just close my eyes instead

That way no one has to deal with it

  


Mmhm. Well, closing your eyes won't do anything against kissing someone with prominent buck teeth.

You'll feel it.

  


Buck teeth don't bother me.

Unless they're bitey.

But that's nice too even so nvm

  


You're an odd one, you know that?

  


I've been made aware, yeah.

  


I say that fondly, by the way.

I like it.

  


I mean good cause that shit ain't goin anywhere.

Tried for years, but it's just stuck~

  


Oh, yes.

It's nice not being the weirdest one in the conversation for a change.

A tease.

  


Yeah yeah laugh it up.

What about you though?

You have a type of guy?

  


Uh, no.

He flushes hot. Maybe he should just fess up? But it’s been so long, that feels _weird now._

I mean, I've never really thought about it.

  


What, you've never thought about what you like?

You've got to have dated before though.

  


Ah, no. I haven't. Uh. Dated a man before.

He's toeing a line, he knows this, but can't bring himself to outright lie. At least not anymore than he already has.

  


Ooohh, I should've seen that coming.

Just cause a your personality type I mean.

Don't worry though, your secret's safe with me~

  


What do you mean, because of my personality type?

  


Strong silent type, bad at social and interpersonal relations.

Fairly certain you're quite shy as well.

  


...

I am not _shy._

  


I believe you are and it's _adorable._

  


I just prefer my own company above that of most others.

He's not pouting. Nope. Shut up.

  


I mean I don't blame you for that.

You're still shy though.

  


Presses a hand over his face to hide the heat there. Striker is in the room and he really doesn't want to have to explain why he's so flustered right now.

I don't care what a man looks like it's the personality I find attractive.

There. Topic change. Easy.

  


Also think I saw that one coming.

  


Congratulations, you're a psychic, Harry.

  


I don't understand that reference.

  


... Harry Potter? You've never read Harry Potter?

  


Nope.

It has movies tho right?

  


Yeah, the movies are pretty decent. Old now, though, but you might get a good laugh at the graphics.

  


Hmm.

Guess I could look into it.

Just to get that reference, y'know.

  


We could watch them together?

I mean, you know. If. You want.

  


You've already seen them though?

The thought curls in his chest.

  


Yeah but watching a movie you've already seen with someone who hasn't is so much _better._

  


Then yes.

I mean yeah.

We can watch together.

  


Yeah?

Warmth blooms within him. He's smiling.

Okay, yes, great. Uh. When is good for you?

  


Hmm, this weekend probably?

I don't think I have much going on.

Is that uh cool with you?

  


Yes that's cool with me.

Gives me enough time to entice Striker into going planetside for the weekend. Otherwise he'll want to join and

Overstepping? Potentially. But. He can't help himself.

And I kind of just want this to be an us thing.

  


BFF night in.

I'm into it~

  


The last BFF I had was when I was six years old.

His name was Panera.

  


Yeah? Well now his name's Isaac.

  


Why would he change his name to

Oh.

_Oh._

That's ... nice. Really nice.

  


You're almost as thick as Ray at times, y'know that?

It's hilarious.

  


If I reach black hole levels of density please feel free to run for your life.

  


Nah, I'm pretty far away as it is~

  


Reckless.

  


I prefer to think of it as taking a calculated risk.

  


Mmhm, sure.

And the reward?

  


Are you not enough of one?

  


The answer should be obvious.

His heart, tight, chest heated.

  


I mean it is to me.

  


This weekend. I'll message you again, soon.

_You're mine now._ The memory of those words rings in his head. Sam imagines barnacles clinging to his back in unreachable places, and finds he doesn't mind the phantom touch.

  



	6. Scene VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the lovely comments!! This is the first chapter with prose in it, but there will be more of these to come. If anything goes wrong with the formatting, please let me know and I'll fix asap!
> 
> —

The problem is, everything went to hell in a handbasket pretty damn fast, and Sam's not really the leader type but now he's got Striker and Yeats staring at him in their tucked away alcove beneath the alien brush and blessedly far away from the scene of the attack, and Sam doesn't know what to do.

Sergeant Forestall had assured them the mission would be cut and dry. The Alpha Phoenix platoon was supposed to be the brawn behind an escort mission, some Earth diplomat visiting an outer colony to open up trade routes, or something like that.

It didn't matter. Forestall had sent them off in designated three-man teams. Sam's was an outlying unit, far east of their charge. Everything was going fine. Until an explosion struck the main caravan and all their shortwave radios only returned a blank hissing static when they tried to make contact.

Every three-man unit had flocked to the scene. Forestall and the diplomat were nowhere in sight, replaced by a smoking patch of exploded dirt and a veritable army of rough looking men who outnumbered the Alpha Phoenix platoon five to one.

The units were chased into the jungles of this alien planet by whizzing bullets. Sam saw two of his squadmates go down and not get back up.

And now. Striker. Yeats. Staring at him with wide eyes like he has any more of a clue on what to do than either of them.

They're lost. It's getting dark.

Striker hands him a phone. _A cell phone._ Which, by the way, he absolutely should not have brought on this mission, and when asked (Sam's voice a low growl in the fading light) had thrown his hands up in surrender and muttered something about some pretty girl he's been texting that he just couldn't blow off for this mission now could he?

Again, doesn't matter.

Sam stares at the device. Tries to call the emergency number on the Fox Five Terminal. The line is busy because _of fucking course it is._ Tries again. And again.

Running out of options, panicked, and unsure what to even do, Sam barely even notices what number he punches into the phone, it's so ingrained into his brain at this point.

Isaac. This is Sam. I'm on Striker's phone. Mission went wrong. Lost contact with Forestall and control's line is busy.

I

We're lost.

I don't know what to do.

So far the day has gone surprisingly well, if Isaac's honest with himself. Nothing but light duty, Ray's been stuck on newbie watch, the cafeteria had some delicious synthetic meatloaf that really and truly hit the spot.

All he's missing from his day is …

Well even now it's strange for him to admit, even to himself, but it's Sam.

Private First Class Samuel Ortez.

Isaac hadn't thought much of their relationship as it had started out. Pen pals of all things. As time flew by around them, however, they've gotten far closer than he assumes either of them had thought.

He's an honest friend, Sam. A colleague in some ways, a confidant, some steady structure which Isaac finds himself leaning upon on his hard days. On his easy ones too.

Which means this is about the time Isaac would be throwing the guy a message, or responding to one at the very least. Only today is Sam's first foray out into the field, and as happy for him as Isaac is?

He's missed. And will continue to be missed until his mission is complete, which should be a few short hours away.

Isaac sighs, flopping down upon his bunk, kicking his feet up as he stares at the ceiling. Bored. Hours pass, or maybe it's just a few minutes, seconds, he doesn't really know. Only understands that his phone is vibrating against his chest, so it must be Sam, because Sam's the only one who messages him, and therefore it must be hours later.

Pleased, he sits up, phone in hand, only for his stomach to drop out his literal asshole.

_We're lost. I don't know what to do._

Panic grips him hard for all of two seconds before he's pushing himself into motion.

I'm here Sam. Is anyone hurt? Are you out of immediate danger?

After sending his messages, Sam stares at the phone screen for an indeterminate amount of time. Usually, he does this with pleasant thoughts in mind. Waiting for the three little dots at the bottom of his messenger app to disappear right before Isaac sends him another text.

Right now, the wait is agonizing. Lowing creatures hum deeper in the jungle. The sun is setting quickly, and with it the chirp of foreign birds. Everything moves to a quieter state. Even the panicked breathing of Striker and Yeats settles to something short and barely heard beneath the wide, flat leaves of their temporary shelter.

Striker reaches for his phone. Once. The dark, serious look Sam glares at him shuts that shit down immediately.

When a message comes through heralded by a soft vibration in Sam's hand, he snaps his attention back to the phone and finds relief wash over him.

Yeah, yes. I mean.

He takes a deep breath. Tries to get his trembling fingers under control. He focuses on facts.

Yes, we're out of immediate danger. Striker and Yeats are with me. We aren't hurt. There was an attack on the main caravan. An insurgent group, maybe. We were heavily outnumbered and retreated into the surrounding jungle. Short wave radios have been silenced. Command at Fox Five Terminal won't pick up the damn phone.

Forestall ... we don't know where he is.

He thinks of the two men he saw get shot during the retreat.

Potentially two casualties.

Messages roll in one by one. They are swift and carry with them hard facts about the mission Sam has faced. And the newly created one he, and his squad mates, now face.

Isaac waits patiently until the end, mind racing through contingency measures he would take in such a situation.

But Sam isn't him. He has no way to know what to do next, no training, no experience. He's lost.

First off, I need you to take a long, deep breath. I know you're scared, but I'm here and I'm going to help all of you get home safe, do you understand?

He takes his own advice before jumping to attention, on his feet and out the door of his room.

Now, put the phone on battery saver mode and call me.

The panic of the last half hour comes to a head, bred between all three men like some living organism. Striker makes a pass for his phone, anxious to attempt contacting control one more time. Sam jumps to his feet, arm extended, with a growl in his chest. Yeats jumps between them, ever the mediator in volatile situations.

"Just—c'mon Ortez, one more try, we need to _do something._ "

" _No,_ I've already— they never picked up, I had to contact someone—"

The phone vibrates. All three men freeze. Sam reads the messages, _I know you're scared,_ and takes a deep breath as told, lungs filling with much needed oxygen.

He puts the phone on battery saver mode (40%) and calls.

When the other end picks up after exactly one ring, Sam isn't sure what he sounds like. He only knows that his throat is tight with anxiety and it feels like he's eaten a bucket of gravel. Despite this, he does his best to inject as much steady authority in his voice as possible. More to ease the men beside him, because God knows his own strength is wavering by the second.

"Sergeant Isaac Gates? This is Private First Class Samuel Ortez speaking, sir."

It takes only a few moments, but Isaac is already down the hall and marching steadily toward his own CO's office. Gunnery Sergeant Mclane is a no nonsense type, war hardened but steady. The only person Isaac trusts with this situation.

His phone rings just before he makes it, but Isaac doesn't let it sound more than once before he's picking up.

Sam doesn't sound anything like he'd imagined. Voice rough, tight. He sounds strong though, the grounding presence of the three lost men, no doubt. Isaac tries his best to relax.

"It's good to hear your voice, private."

_Good to know you're alright,_ he means.

"Now I'm gonna need a Sitrep of your mission. Do you know where you are? I need any and all information you can give me, soldier."

Isaac barges into his superior's office, uncaring of the repercussions in this moment. Gestures to the phone in his hand before pulling away to speak to the room.

"I've got three lost soldiers from the Fox Five Terminal, Alpha Phoenix Platoon, who need immediate Eval and Evac. I'm getting the details now, sir."

Mclane looks at him with wide, stern eyes. Pauses for only a moment before nodding, picking up his own phone.

Around him, the sun finally dips below the horizon and him, Striker, and Yeats are blanketed in a pitch so black Sam's reminded of his grandparent's little cabin home tucked up in the mountains of Colorado.

He looks up as if on instinct, but can't see the stars through thick foliage.

Closes his eyes a moment after, steeling himself for the plaintive looks his squadmates are no doubt giving him. He'd never wanted to be in a position like this, but finds himself immensely relieved that he doesn't have to take charge.

That Isaac, apparently, can do that for him.

It's odd. Moments before, he'd felt so shaky he was certain some necessary organ would slip loose. But he hears Isaac speak for the first time in a commanding tenor, steady, soothing, and it's like every chaotic thought swirling around in his head screeches to a surprised halt.

"Yes, sir."

_It's good to hear your voice._

He swallows down any affirmative to the comment. Barely keeps himself from stating something similar.

"My platoon was sent to the colony planet of Armella to escort an Earth diplomat into one of the larger cities. We were split into small units of three men each. My squad made up the eastern perimeter."

A tremble returns to his voice. He pauses. Takes a deep breath. Continues, clearly, and with paced strength.

"About ten kilometers outside of Grand Falls City, we heard an explosion. Shortwave radio devices were cut off. We went to investigate and found the main caravan containing our CO, Sargeant Forestall, the main unit, and the visiting diplomat, were gone. There were armed men surrounding the area— maybe, I. I think, fifty or more."

Striker and Yeats are watching him. He nods, clearing his throat. _We're going to be okay,_ he tries to express in look alone.

"We fled east. Into the jungle. Um. One— maybe one kilometer. I don't think we were pursued."

Voices chatter in the background, Mclane's interspersed with whoever he's gotten on the horn about this particular problem. Isaac finds it harder than usual to focus on each individual voice he hears coming from the room around him. Gets little pieces of info, but trusts his CO to get them what they need to understand the situation.

Sam is the one Isaac listens to, hears, absorbs.

He doesn't speak as his friend gives everything he can, paced and much stronger than only a moment before. A swimming sense of pride swirls about in his chest, something Isaac squashes for the moment. There will be time for it after.

"Alright Ortez, you and your men did well, alright?"

Gets that out first and foremost, wanting Sam to understand that he hasn't done anything wrong.

"I'm with my Gunnery Sergeant now, we're making calls to your people in Fox Five."

Reassurance.

"Just lay low, no lights, but keep an eye out for any wild animals. Do not shoot your weapons."

Guidance.

Isaac turns back to Mclane, relays every stitch of information given to him as his superior dials in to their sister station.

Has he ever been spoken to like this before?

Sam listens intently to every word, every syllable that comes out Isaac's mouth. Everything strong, steady, and half of it he'd always been told was unnecessary information.

_You and your men did well._ A failed mission, and yet he's receiving praise.

_I'm with my Gunnery Sergeant now,_ details on their efforts instead of a simple 'we'll handle it.'

_Just lay low._ Advice. Something that they can do, need to keep in mind, instead of expecting them to rely on their training to handle the situation themselves.

They've never been trained for something like this.

"Alright, I— we'll do that."

He takes another breath, heartbeat still unsteady but not as wild as before. Pulls the phone away to relay this information to Yeats and Striker. Both men stare at him wide-eyed, but nod, double checking the safety on their guns to ensure no misfired weapons when they tuck them away in the UNSC-issued field armor.

"We're going to remain here for the moment, help is on the way," he tells them, still on the line though he's no longer addressing Isaac.

"No guns. Get your hunting knives at the ready. Lights off. We're going to cover all our bases so sit back-to-back and be on the lookout."

He brings the phone back to his ear.

"Isa— Sergeant Gates. I think I need to conserve the phone battery, so I'm going to cut the line. I'll message you with updates."

A pause. His voice lowers, something warm and soft and grateful beneath the tone.

"Thank you, sir."

Time passes by so much faster after that, Sam's voice low and warm as it mumbles a quiet thank you in Isaac's ear.

He gives his own affirmative, loathing to hang up the phone, but knowing Sam's right. Does so slowly, ass planting itself in one of the chairs in front of Mclane's desk. Listens intently to the play by play his commander is given for the safe rescue of three missing Private First Class members of the Alpha Phoenix Platoon.

It passes in a haze, but Isaac makes absolutely certain that Sam is found and safe before he even so much as thinks about leaving Mclane's office. It's been hours. He's tired and emotionally worn down, takes his stern talking to but doesn't quite understand what is about, before retiring to his own quarters.

Doesn't fall asleep.

He can't. Not without knowing Sam is back in his own home, safe.

It's exhausting. Survival. Knives out and sitting with backs touching in an alien jungle, Sam does his best to stay alert for his team. Can feel Striker's bone-deep tiredness. How Yeats does his best to be attentive, but how those almost-black eyes fall lidded more often than not. After the initial rush of adrenaline leaves their systems, it's like just staying awake is its own impossible task.

It doesn't matter. Sam will be strong enough for all three of them.

He's certain, when he finally does get rest, the howling, clicking, thumping, slithering, shivering noises coming from the dark will haunt his nightmares.

He's had worse.

When rescue does come, the blades of an old Pelican class aircraft touching down nearby, Sam thinks he's never heard a sound as sweet as the roar of its engine.

They're swept away from Armella, thrust up into the stratosphere, a quick hyper jump away from Fox Five Terminal, from home. In the ship, they're given a cursory check up but are found sound of body. Back on the Terminal, Sargeant Forestall is waiting for them, his face stern as ever, with a hefty reprimand on how they hadn't followed protocol, how they had run off in the wrong direction (how is _away from the bullets_ the wrong direction?), how they had been assumed MIA and it had been more important to gather the remaining members of the platoon and get them to safety rather than go traipsing off into the dark jungle just to look for their dead asses.

What Sam thinks during this entire lecture—the thought most prominent in his mind—is how Striker's phone hadn't been an important enough number to break through the Terminal's emergency line.

He kind of hates everyone here.

It's a stark realization that poisons his blood while he stiffly walks back to his room with no dinner, again, for (what he's told) is a rather impressive fuck-up.

Striker passes out immediately.

Sam pulls off his armor, dresses down, and pries open a vent near his bed. Pulls out a neatly sealed plastic container with a few fresh watermelon slices he's been saving for a rainy day.

Nibbles on this treat ( _a la_ Isaac, the package received less than a week ago) in the dark, and pulls out his phone.

  


◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  


You saved my life today.

All of our lives.

  


I mean

Technically you did by calling me.

It's in the wee hours that he gets the message, but he's wide awake. Relieved.

  


I didn't do shit.

He's raw. Shaking. Exhausted but not in the least bit tired. Enamored by this man. Grateful to him. Fuck, Sam's just a bunch of things right now and not one of those things is "formal."

I _couldn't._ I didn't know what to do. We— 

I tried calling the Terminal and you know what? Figured it out. Striker's an idiot, I get it, he's made his fair share of prank calls, but they didn't answer because his number is, I don't know. Blacklisted? Not important enough?

Christ.

I owe you.

  


Listen.

Firm, even though Sam can't hear it.

You kept your men together, you got help, listened to instruction.

You kept your head even if you felt like you were gonna go crazy, you did _well._

I got the whole low down, and honestly? I'm sending in a review of how this situation was handled by your commanding officer. He isn't fit to lead himself to the goddamn shitter and everyone is gonna hear about it.

You want me to write another about the Terminal operations as well?

I'll fucking shut that shit down.

  


Compliments. Commendation. When he'd gotten back Sam hadn't felt like he'd done any good at all. He'd felt like a failure. Like he was somehow personally responsible for putting Yeats and Striker in such a predicament. And yet Isaac speaks on his level head, his ability to listen, even his decision to seek help.

Sam slides a thin piece of watermelon between his lips and munches happily, buzzing at the threatening way Isaac speaks of his CO and this shitty place. It's ... weird. For so long Sam was content to just listen to the orders given to him. To take shit. Didn't matter. It's what soldiers do.

In the long run his own life doesn't mean much. But the think that their training wasn't sufficient and their orders were unsafe, enough to put the lives of his people in danger?

Burn it to the ground for all I care.

I didn't ...

We weren't _ready._ I thought the point of taking so much shit was to make sure we'd be prepared for something like that. But we weren't.

I mean I thought I was going to piss myself, up until the moment I heard your voice.

  


No. You weren't ready.

You hadn't been given the correct preparation, protocol to follow, _nothing._

Your CO got two of your men killed today because of it. I'm not about to let that happen again.

_Happen to you._

  


Perez and Montello.

They

He leans back until his skull rests against the cold metal wall just behind his cot, and closes his eyes for a long minute, thinking of them, honoring them in his own right.

Fingers fiddle with the braided bracelet still resting on his wrist.

I don't know what I would have done without you.

  


You're a survivor, Sam.

I believe you would've fought your way out of that, with your men, to make it back home.

  


He dwells on it. The panic he'd felt. How everything had cinched tight after hearing Isaac's voice, following his direction. How the fear had settled low until his mind was filled only with thoughts of how to live.

It surprises him. How clear everything had become.

Maybe.

But you got me there.

You have a nice voice, by the way.

  


Yeah, well one day you'll learn how to center yourself.

Like I said, you're a good soldier.

The last bit surprises him. He laughs, soft in the dim.

Thanks though? You didn't sound like I anticipated at all, to be honest.

I didn't think your voice would be so deep.

  


Center himself. That's definitely not something he's been trained to do. But he lets these thoughts fly away and sinks into some much needed comfort in the form of his friend.

It tends to drop a few octaves in life threatening situations.

But yeah, you were ... commanding. Calm. And you've got this rasp, you know. It's nice.

What did you think I would sound like?

  


Okay but listen, that warmth in his chest at these words is uncalled for.

I dunno, just different I guess.

I just hope the next time we speak it's on better terms.

  


_The next time,_ now why does that make his heart stutter pleasantly?

Any terms short of life threatening will now be woefully underwhelming, I'm afraid.

  


Way to make a guy feel inadequate Sam. I mean I know I don't get much practice anymore, but jeez.

Cut me some slack.

  


Hm.

I suppose I could make an exception for you.

He blinks once the words send. Reads them again. He'd been referring to Isaac in general, of course. His voice. How speaking to him would be grand, no matter the situation. And yet reading them over, a deeper meaning lights itself in his brain and now Sam's ... a little confused with himself, if he's being honest.

  


How benevolent, sir.

Giggles, exhausted, but all too pleased to have Sam here with him. Now that it has been threatened it feels ... well, a little different.

  


Sir? Come on, learn to loosen up a little.

Words that have been thrown at him on more than one occasion. He shakes his head, feeling unbearably light—the deep low of today making way for a bright high.

  


I'm afraid I'll loosen up completely and fall apart at the seams, if I'm not careful.

  


I have a needle and thread and minimal experience in sewing.

You'll be fine.

  


_Minimal._

Very reassuring.

  


Would you prefer a tight hug?

  


Yes.

  


Alright. I'll snatch a cruiser. They don't have warp technology so I should be there within the next 5,000 years.

Prepare yourself.

  


_Prepare,_ huh?

And here I just asked for a friendly hug. You sure move fast, big guy.

  


That is

Not

At all

What I meant.

  


Uh huh, suuure~

Seriously though don't make me laugh so hard I'll wake up Ray.

  


Oh. He made Isaac laugh. He immediately wonders what that might sound like. Some light tenor. A hint of a scratch.

Or you could use the strategy of every teenage girl and smother it in a pillow.

The ... laugh.

Not Ray.

  


_Oh God._

Sam, please. It's like 3am he'll be so pissed.

  


Grinning now.

I want to hear it. Sometime, you know. Your laugh.

  


Endearing. he sighs, relaxing completely, eyes lidded.

Call me any time.

  


But not right now.

Because Ray would be pissed, yes?

  


Only if I wake him up.

Why, you wanna talk now?

  


He closes his eyes. Hears the skitter of some unknown creature. The howl of something hungry.

Thinks, briefly, of a certain request that's just ... no, that would be ... weird. Too weird.

No, that's alright.

  


Hmm.

Ask it of me and it's yours, Sam.

Doesn't understand how deep that goes until he sees the words on his screen.

  


Warm all over. It's only until just now that Sam starts to understand what _all_ means, in this case.

It's a weird thing to ask.

  


I doubt it.

  


_You can't fathom the depths of my oddness._

  


Come onnn

Just spit it out.

  


Sighs.

Okay, fine.

It's late. I know you have things to do in the morning. I have to clean the whole platoon's armor for my fuck-up, after _another_ night with no dinner.

So I wouldn't be much of a conversationalist, but. I thought. It might be nice. To just.

Have you on the line, while we drift.

To hear his breath. Any quiet words. Maybe he could hear the thump of Isaac's heartbeat if he listens closely enough, reminding him that they're both alive, that all is well.

  


He's definitely getting that dumb fuck of an officer demoted for this.

Do you still have some of my care package food? I'll send you another soon.

I hate your CO.

Call me.

  


◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  


The line rings once, and instead of answering with a _hi_ or anything typical, Sam speaks low and reserved, his voice much calmer now, a little sleepy sounding, even.

"I'm eating the rest of the watermelon you sent."

Rotates the phone so the receiver is away from his mouth when he takes another bite and chews.

Sam sounds different, better, when he speaks on the other end of the line. Calm, drowsy, voice still deep though and pleasantly rough.

"Good. I'll send you more stuff tomorrow."

He sounds sleepy himself, a little muffled from where his face is smooshed into his pillow.

"You like junk food?"

There it is again. That voice. Some pleasing tenor, lazy with the hour, with no hint of harsh command, only praise and promise and a cute question.

Sam might have a problem.

He's too drained to dwell on it right now.

"Mm. Savory over sweet. I like fruit more than candy."

A touch of amusement enters his tone.

"Am I mistaken or did you call your gift of food a _care_ package?"

He laughs again, because he can and Sam makes him feel light.

"What else was I supposed to call it?"

A yawn, ending in a pleased little hum.

"I care that you get fed every night, and it's a package. Though I think I'll add chippies next time."

Shuffled fabric can be heard as he settles further.

"And jerky for protein. Big guy like you, I bet you burn a shit ton of calories by just existing."

The amount of auditory stimulation he gets from this one simple phone call will be enough to tide him over for weeks.

... Which is definitely an odd thought to have, but he's too exhausted to censor it right now.

Isaac shifts about in his bed. Sheets move. A hum. A yawn. 'Chippies.' _That laugh,_ quiet as it is. It's fascinating. Solidifies the fact that the man he's been talking to these past few months is real, alive, and there for him.

Sam chuckles softly.

"Hold on just a second."

He shoves the final piece of watermelon in his mouth, sets the phone down on his bed, then goes about undoing the vent again to hide the evidence within. When he settles back down in his cot, it's beneath the sheets this time, lying prone on his side, facing the wall.

"Back. And I'll remind you that you still have no idea what I look like. Big guy was your moniker, remember?"

"Listen though."

He starts after the quick pause. Can hear the vent _clink_ oh so gently as it's put back into place. Smiles sleepily as he hears bedsheets rustle.

Sam's comfortable around him. That heated, tingly feeling is back in his chest.

"You said you're tall, and by the sound of your voice, I don't think I'm far off to believe you're a big guy. Tall and dark. Handsome I bet."

Oops. Well that had just come out without thinking.

_Handsome._

That warrants another laugh, this one more open. He has to quiet himself immediately, though not for fear of waking Striker. The guy sleeps like the dead and had outright passed out in his armor.

"I already told you I'm unattractive. But ..."

Well, Isaac's already deducted it, hasn't he?

"You're not wrong. About the other stuff I mean."

He closes his eyes. Breathes steadily.

Unattractive.

Something in his gut just speaks to how wrong that sounds. Doesn't know why, but it's no time to debate such a thing. Sam had outright shut down on him the last time he'd brought it up, though that had been quite a while ago.

"See, I'm good at this. Knew it and didn't even _know_ it."

And because he can't help but poke, adds on.

"Fairly certain it's the same with the handsome thing too."

Cocky.

Sam curls in on himself beneath the sheets and covets this moment. It's what he needed to feel grounded again. Safe.

"You can think that all you want, but let's just say the only pics I'd be okay sending are those taken below the neck."

Pause. His eyes fly back open when realization hits him.

"I mean—"

Fluster to his voice.

"Not ... like that."

A laugh is startled from him, bright and louder than he really means it to be. Immediately he quiets to soft giggles, not even bothering to look over to Ray as he shifts in the other bed.

"You're fuckin hilarious, oh my God."

Catches his breath slowly, grin hurting his cheeks.

"By all means, send whatever pics you want, big guy."

And really, it's just a joke, all in good fun. But Isaac can't deny how curious he is, just to get a glimpse of Sam.

"Tell me though, what color are your eyes?"

For all the embarrassment his big stupid mouth has brought him, that uncontrollably bright laugh makes up for it. Sam sinks into the sound, wanting nothing more than to recall it, and the quiet giggles trailing behind, for the rest of his days.

Fuck. He's got a problem on his hands.

He shakes his head with the tease. Voice lowering to that relaxed, sleepy quality it gets in the early mornings.

"Grey. Yours?"

That voice soothes something in him, lulls Isaac into some half state of bleary sleepiness. He doesn't have much control over his mouth anymore, just says what he's thinking without much care.

Sam will take him as he comes, Isaac is now pretty certain of it.

"Boring brown."

He sighs, content.

"I just wanted to make my image of you more accurate in my head. Native, dark skin and hair. Grey eyes, like how does that even happen?"

A soft exhale, limbs growing heavier by the minute. Sam shuffles around to a better, more comfortable position, then settles with a sigh.

"A recessive gene, I believe. And brown isn't boring. There are so many shades."

The mist in his mind solidifies just enough to stare back at him with a mixed shade of brown eyes—light like stripped bark, or dark like coffee with cream.

He pauses, worrying his lip for a moment.

"Meanwhile, I haven't even been given a hint as to what you look like other than these brown eyes of yours. Except you're from New Jersey. So I'm guessing a full sleeve tattoo?"

He laughs again, something about the way Sam talks to him like this, open really, with no hesitation in that sleepy voice.

It's nice. Really nice.

"Nah, nothing like that. I went into the army too early for it."

Isaac hums though, wondering what he should give away of himself.

"I'm tall though, bean pole I've been called, actually. Brown hair. _Boring,_ like I said."

"Wait."

The one word comes out breathlessly. A sleepy sort of shock.

" _Bean pole._ Why am I just now hearing about this? That's hilarious, Isaac, please."

Tired as he is, his amusement doesn't come out in that deep belly laugh that hits him every now and then when Isaac sends a particularly entertaining message. But it's enough to shake his whole body on the bed, a flurry of voiceless breaths that overtake him at the image.

Tall. Brown eyes, brown hair. Thin, then, if the nickname is at all accurate.

Sam sighs, pleased with this information.

Oh what is that now?

That laugh, low and breathless, the sound of his name in that same tone.

Isaac's too tired, that's all that it is. Tired and pleased to have this man safe and sound, it's doing weird things to his head.

He swallows, gives his own little laugh, one that sounds honestly distracted.

"I should have never said that. You're gonna hold it against me, aren't ya?"

Drifting like this is good. Isaac in his ear. And yeah, Sam can hear him breathe. Laugh. Every little shuffle. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine Isaac is right there with him.

Well, uh. Not literally right there. Like on the bed. Because for one his cot is small and that's too close. And for another ... yeah, just.

Okay maybe he's too tired for this.

Clearing his throat softly, Sam pushes any hesitation to the back of his brain because this is Isaac, the man who just saved his life and the lives of his friends, and really, what's there to worry about?

Nothing. That's what.

"I would never do that. Not when there are far better things to hold against you."

A tease. Dumbly worded.

Is this …

What is _that?_

Isaac blinks his eyes wide open as the words hit him well lower than they really should.

Sam's _not,_ right? Like absolutely not, because they're friends. But to be real honest, if it was any other gay man saying those words to him? It would be an obvious come on.

The only thing he can do is play it off as a joke, right? Right.

"Well that's a little forward of you, don't ya think, Sam?"

Teasing as his tone is, if it's a little deeper than that. Well he can't help it.

_Oh_ what is ... that tone?

It's enough of a shift in cadence to make Sam blink open his eyes. Still hazy with the beginnings of sleep, but Isaac's voice drops lower with that tease (and Sam has to scramble for a minute, thinking back on what he said, then analyzing it for a moment longer to understand the wording) and, well.

Why does that tone of voice make his stomach tight and warm all at the same time? Feels like he's cresting a hill on a rollercoaster and staring down at the drop.

"I ... Did not ..."

Shakes his head, smooshing his hot face thoroughly into his pillow.

"You know what I meant."

It comes out muffled by fabric.

Of course he didn't mean it like that. Sam sounds embarrassed by just the thought, shy just as Isaac has deduced before.

It's cute though. Endearing.

So he laughs, this time soft, barely there as he lets the heat simmer in his chest. This guy. He just does things to Isaac. How and why have no meaning to him on the matter though.

He enjoys it too much to analyze.

"But I live for making you flustered."

"You should find a better hobby."

Said without venom. Still muffled by that pillow, though. He breathes through the strange feeling in his stomach before turning his face to the side just enough to ensure his voice comes out more clearly.

"Like knitting. I bet you'd be great at it."

"Nope. Don't have the patience for it."

There's a grin audible in his tone.

"I'd much rather talk to you."

Full stop, he doesn't add anything to it, because that's all there is. It doesn't matter what they're talking about or why or how it started.

Isaac likes talking to Sam, likes having this friendship far too much to take any time from it.

"Don't have the patience," he repeats, disbelieving, but he likes that new sound—the way he can hear Isaac's smile.

Even if he's pretty sure it's a shitty little grin.

"You're welcome to call me on the phone so we can talk while you practice your new hobby. Because I'm going to need you to knit me a hat, preferably large enough to fit over my entire head, down to the neck."

Gets a little talkative in this lax state. Or maybe he's just comfortable. At ease in Isaac's presence unlike with anyone else.

"Nah, I'm gonna have to see that fluster of yours at some point."

Teasing still because he can, but also to see how Sam might react.

To the thought of being seen by Isaac.

Because there's something up with the guy's face, something that makes him feel ugly, and Isaac kinda wants to ... Well it's a soft as shit thought, but he wants to be able to reassure him.

That he can find something, maybe? That he isn't something hideous.

"But I would like to call more."

The thought is daunting. Sam reaches up to touch the scar crisscrossing his face. Fabric shuffles beneath his arm with the gesture. The skin is, like always, slightly raised. Pale now. It's an old wound. But prominent. Not something easily hidden.

He'd had to prove his merit with his squad. That's how he'd moved from some choice nicknames to a simpler, almost respectful (in comparison), Late Bloomer.

But Isaac seeing him?

It shouldn't worry him so much. And yet.

"I'll send you a picture of my fluster right now."

A pause, then quieter, as if revealing a secret.

"I'd like that, too."

Sends his picture a moment after:

"You're an absolute shit."

Says it fondly though as he receives the picture Sam speaks of.

"Also I believe that's highly inaccurate with your skin tone, even if it was just a slightly darker olive, that pink wouldn't blend."

Speaks, matter of fact, some pout on his lips creeping into his voice.

"Oh, well, maybe art should be your hobby."

Surprised, yes, but warmed by the way Isaac speaks to him. Like they're connected, or like Sam's a trusted person.

Like Isaac can just be himself, here, and that's kinda all Sam really wants. For this man who he appreciates, to feel appreciated in return. Comfortable.

"And are you pouting? I'm pretty sure I can hear you pouting."

"I am _not_ pouting."

A scoff.

"I'm a grown ass man."

Definitely pouting. And now all the moreso since he's been called out.

But it brings Isaac back, makes him think somehow of their first few interactions. The formalities, constant sir this sir that.

He prefers this ten to one.

"A grown ass man that pouts so loudly I can hear it from hundreds of light years away."

He grins, certain the amusement is clear in his voice. Not that he minds. Showing Isaac these pieces of himself had been difficult to begin with.

But the guy is just so ... _something._

It's easy to fall into it.

Isaac is his best friend, after all.

"I'm just _tired,_ okay?"

Shifts around, getting comfortable on his side, sighing as his bones align and pop.

"A little puppy decided to get lost in the woods and I couldn't rest until he was home safe."

Isaac's still warm, but that vivid heat has simmered down into something different. A flickering candle in his chest.

_"Puppy?"_

It's his turn to scoff. Sam listens to the creaks and sighs while Isaac shifts around in bed.

But the admission sticks with him. Isaac couldn't rest until Sam was safe. The realization chokes him up for a moment. He sucks in a sharp breath. Releases it slowly.

It's weird.

Having someone out here, who cares.

He thinks about those packages of food sent his way. What Isaac had said _(I care that you get fed every night)._ That he's going to be sending another.

"Can I ... admit something to you?"

His voice is whisper quiet.

There's a change in the atmosphere between them. Sam inhales, quick and sharp, gives a low question. Almost too quiet to hear.

Isaac is struck that perhaps he's been too much lately.

Doesn't know what this confession could entail, nods his acceptance, forgetting for a moment that Sam isn't there to see it.

"Anything, Sam."

His own voice is just as quiet, almost hesitant, if only for the fact that he doesn't want to be let down easy here.

For a full minute after being given the go-ahead ( _anything,_ and his name spoken with such a gentle air), Sam just stares at the wall only a handful of inches from his nose.

Listens to Isaac breathe on the other end. If he thinks about it, he can imagine the rise and fall of a chest. The beating heart beneath.

Sam speaks slowly, wanting to get his thoughts out in the right order.

"I know you said I'm a survivor. And maybe I would have survived today without your help. But."

Swallows. Throat bobbing with some thick, unnameable emotion.

"I felt stronger with you there."

A pause lingers between them, but it doesn't feel much more than soft, thoughtful. Isaac waits, though for as much patience as he usually finds himself lacking, there is no short supply for Sam.

And Isaac is not left wanting.

His friend speaks slowly, precisely.

"I'm here, y'know. Whenever you need."

Because that's what friends are for, right? Isaac isn't too well versed in it, but Sam is the person he can honestly say he's been closest to. Possibly ever.

"Strength in numbers, big guy. I'm here."

"See that's the problem though."

He yawns. Doesn't even bother to hide it. Can already feel exhaustion tugging on his bones, sleep close behind.

It makes his thoughts more susceptible to slipping from his brain, down to his mouth, and into the phone receiver.

"I kinda want you here all the time. But I'm pretty sure I'd get literally eaten by my CO if I was just on the phone with you constantly."

Another yawn. He drags a pillow in front of him, just to sling an arm over it and pull it to his chest.

"Absolutely fuck your CO."

Spoken as venomously as possible while he's so sleepy.

"Fuckin asshole. He'll get his, I'm certain if it. Then we can talk all we want, how about that?"

He laughs, pleased, warm.

"That sounds perfect."

Another short pause.

"Hey Isaac? Can I ask a favor?"

"Mhm, shoot."

Doesn't even think to hesitate, mind blanking out to welcome the pleasant darkness of sleep.

"Stay on the line."

And with that, Sam's stormy grey eyes slip shut and he drifts into a blissful unconsciousness.

Dreams not of nightmarish creatures in the dark, but of a heartbeat, steady and strong, and a man with a pleasing tenor saying his name.


	7. Scene VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again so much for the lovely comments! <3333

At what point is it permissible to murder one of your squadmates in cold blood?

  


Whenever you're sure no one would miss them and you have the means to hide the body.

  


Practical.

I like it.

Unfortunately that means I can't kill Striker. His aunt calls him every week.

  


What's that shithead done now?

I'm almost afraid to know, really, if he's upset you that much.

  


Well, he found out that the man I called to rescue us down on Armella is the same man I've been texting these past few months.

And now he's.

Being annoying.

  


Oh?

Wait now I'm very interested.

What's he saying?

  


He's convinced you're my "sugar daddy."

His words, not mine.

  


That's fuckin hilarious.

I love it.

Though really you're not putting out so what am I getting out of this agreement, hmm?

  


I

What wait

No.

We don't have an agreement!

  


I mean we definitely don't now, but think of all the things we _could_ be, hmm?

  


Isaac says think, and Sam's vivid imagination asks _how high?_ If he wasn't flushed before, he certainly is now. Which is all sorts of weird because he doesn't even _like_ guys.

He shakes his head.

Annoyed cashier and patronizing customer.

Murderer and victim.

Man who issues a restraining order, and man who has a restraining order issued against him.

A world of possibilities.

Droll.

  


It's that shining sense of humor that I love most about you, yknow?

I'm changing your name to _sugar baby_ in my phone.

  


Oh my God.

Please do not.

What if someone _saw?_

  


Then I would laugh for days and explain to them in wild depth that you're my sugar baby

Who doesn't put out

But we're looking past that for now

  


And here I thought _some_ one was supposed to be crossing their t's and dotting their i's for their next big promotion.

  


Listen alright, I can have _some,_ it's just few and far between if I'm certain I don't look like a hussy.

I'm setting an example here, but I can't go full celibate I'm dying I'll die.

  


Well good luck breaking that celibate cycle with a "sugar baby" that doesn't put out yet.

  


_Yet,_ huh?

  


I did not

I mean

_You're_ the one who said "for now" first, okay?

  


I just said we ain't gonna talk about it.

You're the one who's offering~

  


The only thing I'm offering to you is a picture of my cold, dead glare.

  


I'm down.

  


Overeager, more like.

  


I've wanted to see you since we met, of course I'd jump at the chance you nerd.

  


Which is half the reason I will not actually be sending said picture.

It's fun to watch you dangle.

  


You ain't watching shit cause you'll never get a picture of me either, if you're playing like that.

  


It's funny, because either of them could have easily looked up UNSC records to find their military issued ID's, and thus a picture. Yet neither of them have.

It's this fact that has garnered Sam's trust on the matter, more than anything else. Isaac hasn't looked. Won't. Seems to want it straight from the source.

Why?

I mean, why do you want to know what I look like?

  


It's mostly just a curiosity.

Because for some reason I just can't believe that you're unattractive.

It doesn't matter what you look like, I just have this need to prove you wrong I guess.

  


The words come honestly. Sam blinks. Rubs the palm of his hand against his chest.

I'll consider it.

Now please help me find a way to convince Striker we aren't _literal butt buddies._ The many light years between us aren't even a good enough excuse for him.

  


_What if we were._

Doesn't type the words but he feels like they're loud enough to hear anyway.

Alright, if it bothers you that bad, I'll just tell him.

Gimme his number.

  


What.

No, absolutely not.

  


Why not?

  


Because _then he'll have your number._

_And you're mine, not his._

Plus he'll just be even more convinced if you speak to him directly.

Listen, it's not that big of a deal. It's just

Sighs, shaking his head.

  


Why would him having my number be a problem?

And how would I convince him further if you asked me to do the opposite?

I'm confused.

  


He'll message you relentlessly.

_And you'll probably hit it off better with him than you ever did me._

And you're the guy who looks out for me. You saved us. You're my friend. And in his eyes, if you tell him "no, we're not," that just translates to "yes, we are," because you'd be contacting him _specifically_ to get him off my back.

Listen.

I'm just tired of him demeaning you like that. But it's not something I can't take care of myself, okay?

  


Woah okay, hold your horses, big guy.

What do you mean demeaning me?

I mean if he's talking shit he gonna get hit.

  


I mean.

You're you.

And I'm me.

That's clearly an insult to your sensibilities and taste.

  


...

Sam.

You're a ridiculous human being.

It doesn't bother me.

  


It

Wait what?

  


What what?

  


But you're a Sergeant and more than that, you're

_You._ Kind and funny and commanding, brave, intelligent, clear-headed and oh no holy hell Sam is—

Fuck. Sam's in trouble.

  


I'm not _your_ Sergeant, plus we're literally stationed light years away from each other.

I'm not trying to convince you of anything, Sam. I'm just being honest.

I don't mind.

  


A hand finds itself covering his face quite suddenly. Sam's face flushes warm from brow to neck. Because he's currently having a rather disturbing realization about just what, and _who,_ attracts him, while at the same moment the object of this strange attraction is telling him he _doesn't mind_ being seen as ... that. To Sam.

But Isaac is right. They're literally light years away with no reason to actually meet in person. Their duties are just too different. Stations are too far apart.

It's Isaac's kindness, this patient hand of his, his _reason_ that only draws Sam further and further down this rabbit hole.

You would still be as celibate as the day you were born, by the way.

His heart beats out of his chest.

  


Wait what.

That's definitely not what he thinks. But the wording throws him for a loop and a half, alright?

His stomach clenches, jumps up into his throat, but he remains logical. Sam wouldn't. This is just a tease, but he doesn't feel the need to be anything but honest right back.

Not really.

Sexual relationships happen long distance all the time.

  


Alright, okay, calm down and take a breath, Ortez. What are they even talking about, again? Right. Isaac. And him. Together. Like ... _together_ together. And how Striker's been singing this teasing song for weeks now. And how Isaac doesn't mind the thought of that song ringing true.

And now it's ... what. Sexual relationships? Long distance? How it doesn't matter that Isaac's a Sergeant and Sam's just a PFC and, okay okay.

Logically Isaac's just joking, right? But, then again, the guy had just said, what, _I'm not trying to convince you of anything, Sam. I'm just being honest. I don't mind._ So maybe it's not a joke.

Fuck this is confusing.

I mean, I guess. That's true. Fair enough.

He rubs at the back of his neck. Too out of his element to really press for answers, but too ... _something_ to really back down just yet.

  


Relax, big guy, I'm just telling it like it is.

Honestly I'll tell Striker to fuck off.

Threaten to tell Forestall about his collection under the mattress or something.

  


Actually that

Won't be necessary.

  


You get him to leave you alone then?

  


No.

I, uh.

I don't mind, either.

  


...

Alright, no, still. It's not like that's a thing okay.

Don't mind doesn't mean actively want, and yes he'd used that exact phrase but mostly because he didn't know what else to say.

And now he's gone and confused himself.

I still feel like I want to rat him out for annoying you.

Doesn't know what else to say, really. Anxious about poking this bubble between them.

They're just two not straight dudes who don't mind if people think they're together even if they're not. Simple as that.

  


If they do a search of his bed for those magazines they'll do a search of the entire room and potentially find my hidden "chippies."

  


I mean I'm certain you've found a better hiding spot, you're more advanced than a single celled organism.

  


I might have dismantled a panel in the wall and welded together a hidden latch to release it.

But you didn't hear that from me.

  


He laughs, and is not so reluctantly impressed.

That's why you're my favorite.

  


Warmth hits him all the same. Even his newfound realizations don't diminish how good Isaac makes him feel.

Wow. I've achieved "favorite" status without even kissing your ass.

Don't I get some kind of medal for that?

  


I don't usually hand out medals for ass kissing, but that's usually a few dates down the road so who knows.

You could convince me~

  


Oh, could I?

Do tell.

  


I'm not here to give you the answers, Sam.

Some things you have to earn for yourself.

  


I'm fine with that.

But now I'm curious. You said "a few dates down the road" but I was under the impression you were ...

Hm. What did you call it.

A hussy?

Grins, brightly.

  


The date thing was mostly an exaggeration but to be fair I ain't never had a guy eat out on the first night sooo.

Do with that information what you will.

_Eat out._

I

What

Does that even mean.

  


He laughs, bright and vibrant, because Sam _doesn't know_ and that's hilarious..

I meant ass kiss to be very literal, y'know.

  


You are _salacious._

And now he's flushed all over again.

  


I've been cooped up, what can I say?

I wish I could see the look on your face I bet it's priceless.

  


If long distance sexual relations are so easy why don't you just do that?

Ignores the face comment because of course he's embarrassed and flustered just thinking about it and _of course_ Isaac knows.

  


Okay well now ya see this is where he's gonna get himself in a pickle.

Because he? Doesn't date, and a long distance sex thing would _have to_ involve some kinda more than a feeling to even get him going. Otherwise he's just as well off looking at porn.

So. Does he play his hand, or play it cool?

I never said they were easy, just that they happen all the time.

  


Yeah well. I guess the question would be, is it easier to stay celibate, or easier to have a long distance relationship like that?

I mean I guess porn would do just as well at that point.

  


There's a different between long distance sex and a long distance relationship.

The former, yeah, I agree it would just be easier to watch porn or something.

So if you're not attached to something, then staying celibate is probably the way to go.

  


Hm. Fair.

I'd have trouble with that, you know.

The "just sex" thing. Don't really see the point, when I have a working hand already.

  


It's different in person.

Just to have someone close, someone you can feel close to even if it's just for a little while. To make em laugh and feel good and look at you like you're something more.

It was nice.

  


_Oh_ that's.

Cute. And a nice thought. Sam remembers the feeling vividly. It's ... been a while. He's done what he could to get over the trauma of his past, and he likes to think he's made some pretty deep strides.

But it's still been a while, for him.

Shakes his head.

You sound like a romantic.

  


Pfff, nah, I just like to get my dick wet and have zero attachments.

Okay that was a reach. Idiot.

  


Hm.

I don't believe you.

His lips tilt, amused by this new dimension of Isaac that's being revealed to him.

  


I'm just a touch starved idiot, don't draw attention to it.

  


I'm roommates with a touch starved idiot, I know the difference.

You're something else altogether.

  


_Don't draw attention to it._

  


Why not?

I like to know things about you.

  


This is

Personal? Too close?

Okay fine.

  


Trust. Handed to him with minimal reluctance. Sam recognizes this instantly. Feels warmth simmer in his chest.

I don't think you just like to get your dick wet.

I think you like to be close. Feel important.

Nothing wrong with that.

Might be too close to heart for him to point it out, though, so Sam tries to lighten it all with what Isaac often tells him:

It's _adorable._

  


Ugh.

Where did timid little PFC Ortez go, huh? Where's the respect, I'm not adorable.

But fuck it all if he's not spot on.

  


Alright.

I find you incredibly adorable, _sir._

  


Okay, now it feels kinky and I'm uncertain how to process that information.

Blinks.

Please do not take my innocent loyalty and bend it to your insidious needs.

He's joking. Mostly. Not because he finds Isaac's "needs" insidious, but because a warmth settles lower in his gut than he's used to, at the thought.

Weird.

  


_Insidious needs._

Rude.

My needs are gentle and pure, okay.

Which is weird and oddly fucking true when it comes to this guy ugh.

  


Says the man using the words "dick" and "wet."

But he laughs, and feels a little gentle himself, settling into his bed for the night.

But alright, okay. I believe you. It's hard to imagine you being, like. Not a good lover, anyways.

  


Oh yeah?

And just what kinda lover would I be, hm?

  


Now isn't that a question and a half? Sam takes the time to rearrange himself until he's leaning back on his pillow, staring up at the cold metal ceiling.

What kind of lover _would_ Isaac be? He has no image of the man, other than brown eyes, brown hair, tall and thin, and no sleeve tattoo up his arm. Knows his voice. Confidant and calm. Soothing.

Closes his eyes and suddenly Isaac is there. A voice speaking above him. Whispering soft praise in Sam's ear while Isaac settles down on his chest, between his legs, easing himself inside—

Eyelids fly open. His heartbeat beats heavily.

He's totally fucked.

Wild.

Like a steady ship on an angry sea. Everything raging and rocking but

You're the only safe thing.

  


Christ.

He's struck by the words given back to him. Hadn't expected anything of his little tease, maybe some flustered non response, but this?

I uh

I think you might be the romantic here.

  


Laughs, eased by the thought. That someone could find him romantic. After everything.

I won't deny it.

Am I wrong, though?

  


I suppose not.

He hasn't really thought of it _like that,_ but.

I like to make people I'm with feel good, comfortable. Accepted, I dunno.

  


Then we're both romantics.

Which makes your aversion to long distance relationships interesting. Or maybe it's because they would be long distance, and you prefer a more hands-on approach?

  


Okay so here's the difference. If it's long distance I gotta _feel_ something for the guy, but if it's in person, it's just sex. Just the hands on

I don't have an aversion to the long distance thing, but it would definitely be dating and I mean I just haven't really been into dating in general in the past.

  


In the past?

There's a lot to glean from this, and Sam takes it all in patiently, but this question sticks to the front of his mind.

So that's changed?

  


Fuck did he say that?

It's late and he has a big fucking mouth ugh.

I don't connect easily.

Like really.

So maybe I've connected.

God he's being so stupid. There's a difference here, this isn't what he could maybe possibly want it to be. And he hasn't even _seen_ Sam for Christ sake.

He's barking up the wrong tree, but damn it all if he won't be there all night.

  


Alright so, Sam's a pretty logical guy, right? He enjoys patterns and numbers, recognizes shifts in expression and posture to understand the meaning behind what people try to say to his face.

Problem is there is no expression here. No posture. Only his memory (photographic) of the things Isaac has said, and the way he speaks. What he sounds like. All the little tells that he gives out so subtly.

So. Logically. With them being friends, _best_ friends, and him calling Sam his favorite, saying Sam's the only person who sends him things in the mail (alone), how Sam's pretty much the only person Isaac talks to, all signs point to who, exactly, Isaac could have connected with.

Him.

Some deeply buried instinct drives Sam to his feet without him ever thinking about it. The need to pace. Only, he doesn't pace. He walks himself right into the little shared bathroom in his and Striker's room. Shuts the door. Flicks the light on. And proceeds to try every angle to get the best picture of himself, his body, from the neck down.

Dressed in a thin grey tee and matching sweatpants, a muscled, dark bicep hanging limply at his side because he doesn't really know what to do with his hands _because he doesn't really know what to do with his jsjsjkadk right now._

Sam walks his happy ass right back to his cot and plops down on the edge of it.

He could be wrong about this. He's wrong to be interested in this because isn't he supposed to be straight or something? But there's a pressure on his chest when he stares at his phone, re-reads Isaac's messages over and over again.

I've never done this before.

Honest in every way that could be interpreted.

So you're not allowed to laugh.

Sends the picture.

  


He has just enough time to really think about just how much he's fucked up here tonight.

Sam had messaged him explicitly to get Striker off his back about them being together. To which Isaac responded by saying ... What, exactly?

That he wants to be together? Or that they could be? That he's never felt so connected to another person to want more of them, but now he's found that in Sam and that's just supposed to be _okay?_

Finally he gets a message and it's nothing like what he thought it could be. Doesn't know how to respond because he isn't exactly sure what Sam's talking about.

Until he gets a picture. One of a man dressed down in military issue lounge wear, skin a dark, caramel coffee color showing at his throat and along the lines of his arms. No face to be seen, but it's definitely something.

Uh.

Hi there.

I'm not laughing.

  


I didn't ... know ... if I got the lighting right. In the bathroom.

It's cramped.

Hi.

Presses a hand over his face.

  


Because you're so damn tall.

What is this and why can't he just ask?

That was the most chaste body picture I've ever gotten and I'm still giving it an a+, 10/10, two thumbs raised way up.

👍 👍

  


He laughs. Nervous, relieved, unsure of what this is or what to do but just knows that …

He likes Isaac.

Kind of a lot.

6'4". It's a curse.

You're ridiculous.

I'm glad you didn't laugh.

  


Why would I laugh?

I like earning pieces of you.

  


Jesus. When he puts it like that.

As long as all those pieces remain attached to me and not hidden in some tupperware container in your room.

  


That made my mind go to some really weird places and I'm very unhappy with myself.

Though honestly if I'm having you in my room, you're definitely remaining all attached. Though possibly never leaving.

  


An outright punch to the stomach. Warm honey drips from his belly, lower, _though possibly never leaving,_ fuck.

Jesus, Isaac.

It might be the first time Sam's peripherally admitted to the man's effect on him, but he's not really of a mind to care.

I'm not sure what you have in mind is an available MOS.

  


I'll apply to the review board, maybe pull a few strings.

You never know unless you try~

God though seeing those words written out for him. He's boiling just beneath his skin, wondering fervently as to what's going to happen next.

  


No, I suppose you don't.

Case in point: this. Right here. How Sam made a move of some type, stumbling and unsure as it had been, and now that he's opened this door to his own feelings and somehow pried apart the one to Isaac's—

Yeah, now any time Sam closes his eyes for more than five seconds, he sees Isaac (the idea of him) right there. Next to him. Above him. Just breathing and leaning close, cold poorly circulated body sapping Sam's heat and leaving him ... wanting.

For something. He’s not sure.

One chaste body pic and you're already willing to circumvent the entire UNSC rules of protocol just to get me in your bed.

I'm flattered.

  


I don't believe I said anything about my bed.

Just my room in general~

So now I can only deduce that _you're_ the one who wants to be in my bed.

  


Fuck.

Okay. Listen.

I'm.

An idiot.

That is all.

  


He laughs, full bodied and so very pleased, endeared, captivated. How can one person make him feel so much?

I'm going to let you in on a secret, Sam.

That's exactly where I would have you.

In my bed, definitely in the shower, against the door, anywhere you'd like it, really.

  


Why does it feel like he's actually been lit on fire? Sam hasn't been this engrossed by someone in so long, he'd actually forgotten what it felt like. It's nothing like when he's alone, sating a basic human need.

And that's probably the most startling realization here. Because unless Sam went and dropped his sexuality somewhere and it rolled beneath the fridge, he's pretty sure the last time he checked he was very much so _not_ attracted to men. Has never looked twice at another man.

And yet here Isaac is, detailing all the different places he would _have him,_ and Sam's panting for it. Achy with the thought.

He can only deduce it's _Isaac_ that his mind and body are stuck on the thought of. Fuck, he doesn't even know what the man looks like, not really, and already he's—

Wild at the thought. So wild he doesn't even want to correct these images, or deny them. Just wants to close his eyes and sink in.

Poor Ray is going to have a heart attack.

Fuck, though. Isaac, I don't. I mean, I've never

  


It's a strange thought, really, how Sam can not be interested in women and still act completely bewildered by this.

Says he hasn't, he's never, but it could mean a lot of things. Doesn't sound like he's not into it though.

Just relax, big guy, if I say something stupid just tell me to fuck off, yeah?

  


Takes a deep breath. As told, he relaxes, even crawls back into bed, this time curling beneath the sheet, dragging that extra pillow against his chest and between his arms.

You say a lot of stupid things, but this is not one of those times.

  


Good.

But just

It's okay, yknow? To not know or have a lot of experience. It's okay.

  


The only safe place in a raging sea.

Okay.

I ... definitely don't have a lot of experience.

  


I could teach you, if that's uh.

On the table.

  


Teach me, like. What?

Honestly he's clueless. Doesn't even know how to understand Isaac's offer, but the thought of this man teaching him ... intimate things ... kinda does everything for him.

  


Anything you wanna know, really.

I'd like to learn you. All of you, if I'm honest.

  


Okay that sounds, yeah. Really good.

Heart in his throat.

But just to let you know if you keep saying things like that I'm going to actually die. Implosion. Body melted to little bits.

  


No but you can't.

I haven't even gotten to see like half of you yet. I need the full picture first.

He's standing out on many limbs tonight. It's turning out in spades for him and yet he still feels undeniably _nervous_ about it.

  


_The full picture._ He swallows heavily.

That's ...

Can I be honest with you?

  


Yeah, course.

  


That's something I would like to give you.

At some point.

I just

I can't right now. It's ... I don't know.

_You'll find me ugly shameful unworthy and this thing that's happening, this connection I feel, will just stop._

  


Listen, Sam.

In your own time, yeah?

I'm not going anywhere, far as I can tell.

  


Alright. I believe you.

_I trust you._

Tell me about this next care package. What are you sending?

  


He relaxes, breathes.

Shouldn't it be a surprise?

  


I'll just run across every possible iteration in my head until I stumble on the correct one.

  


How about you don't do that though.

Just relax in bed with me, it's getting late yknow.

Have plans for tomorrow?

  


It's unfair how you say things sometimes you know.

But no. No plans. It's the weekend.

  


I have no idea what you're talking about.

But good, you deserve some time off. I'm going for a little retreat with a couple of guys from the squad.

I'm not looking forward to it.

  


Yeah? Why not, sounds fun.

  


I have to leave my phone at the base, only newbies are gonna be there, and also _Ray._

He's been very needy lately.

  


Oh.

No reason to feel disappointed. It won't be long, right? And Sam had to leave his phone back on base for his mission, so there's no reason to pout at standard procedure.

Be careful of feeding the black hole. He'll suck you in and I'm not sure I'd appreciate that at this point in time.

Teasing, lightly, but there's a hint of truth all the same.

How long?

  


I'm certain if you were here to experience it, you would find it more ... Endearingly ridiculous than anything.

But for the record, I'm not into being sucked in by anything but you at this point in time.

Wait that sounds worse than he'd meant it. But also when did just saying these things become so easy?

Sam makes him weak, or perhaps it's a little stronger.

Two days of roughing it.

It's supposed to snow real heavy too so I'll probably freeze and die.

  


I literally cannot tell how sexually that comment was meant to be taken. But it's you. So I'm going to assume it was more sweet than savory.

Two days though, hm?

He wants to ask Isaac to take his phone. Just in case. The guy's cold blooded after all. Sam is not eager to find the validity of Isaac's "freeze and die" claims, but at the same time he doesn't want to come across as clingy.

Even if he's definitely feeling clingy.

Are you sure you can't sneak a phone along with you, in case of emergency? Or in case I

Miss you.

get bored without you here. Which is definitely an emergency.

  


I mean I get the sentiment.

It's kind of a long time to go without.

You.

But it shouldn't be a big deal. You wouldn't know it by looking at me but I'm a stickler for protocol.

  


I've never looked at you, actually.

But he gets it, he really does. Sighs though.

Just, stay warm, okay? As warm as you can.

  


I could give you a lil something, if you'd like.

Just to remember me by~

  


A little ... oh. Sam blinks, shakes his head, pleased by this man, fond.

You don't have to if you don't want to, Isaac. You're under no obligation to reciprocate.

  


I know I'm not.

I just like us to be on the same page, yknow?

  


Yeah?

I'd be ... happy, then. For anything you'd like to give me.

  


Alright, then.

He goes on a little adventure to his and Ray's shared bathroom, kicking the other man's stuff out of the way of the full length mirror situated on the back of the door.

And really it isn't like he's never done this before, but it had always felt ... different, for sure. Meaningless maybe? Purely sexual, definitely. With Sam, however, Isaac takes his time.

Gets the long length of himself in the picture, torso covered in a dark tank, legs hairy and toned sticking out of knee length thin shorts. Doesn't mean to capture any segment of his face, but clips the curl of his lips and decides to keep it in.

Sends the picture before he's even back in bed.

  


He waits. Patient. Quiet. It's getting late and Striker isn't back yet, he's rarely back before lights out, and Sam only curls a little tighter around the pillow in his arms, musing on tonight's events and how they had gotten from where they were, to where they are now.

How it had _clicked_ for Sam.

It takes a few minutes, but he receives a picture after a short amount of time, and Sam hesitates in opening it. Will his feelings change? Will seeing the very real and present body of a man (a gender he never thought he would be attracted to) actually stamp out this flicker of interest burrowed in his heart? He's nervous at the thought.

Opens the message.

Photographic memory or not, Sam stares for a long while. Eyes trailing down every inch of body, taking in each detail. When he's done, he turns his face and buries it in his pillow.

Flushed. Heated. Appreciative.

The spark does not lessen.

Isaac is a tall, thin man, as he'd said. His legs are covered in light colored hair, long and toned. He's white. Torso a sharp V, though his shoulders aren't very broad, and. He's smiling. The picture cuts off at the mouth, but there's enough of a view of them for Sam to see that cocky, coy expression.

Sam's stomach drops out. There is nothing sexual about this photo, yet Sam feels like he could press his face into this man's chest and breathe deep just to figure out what he smells like.

I like your smile.

  


Yeah well I was thinkin of you.

The admission makes him grin further, heat in his chest crumbling around a wall of warmth. It's startling to recognize the difference.

  


He tilts his face just so, specifically so he can cover it again with his hand.

You're cute.

Also A+ body. Would stare at again.

  


You really know how to make a guy feel special, big guy~

  


_You don't understand how big of a deal for me it actually is that I find you attractive._ Words he can't say. Because of previous dumb slip-ups. And now it doesn't really matter, right? Because he actually _is_ interested in this man. Apparently in every way imaginable.

I have my doubts you need me to feel that way.

You seem the cocky type.

He opens up that picture again just to keep looking.

  


Yeah well, maybe I like it best when you make me feel that way, huh?

  


Sap.

Said warmly, teasing.

He ends up looking at that picture over and over again, for the rest of the night.

  



	8. Scene VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! My only excuse is I had a ton of mistakes in the formatting for this chapter and put off fixing them for way too long. xD
> 
> —

Shore leave on a mostly deserted ice planet isn't exactly _great._ Climate is freezing, food is ... strange, but thank God for the booze. Doesn't know what made him take the plunge for it, but some downtime might be nice, right?

It's been a day and all he's done is look at the pictures Sam sent him from the Gem Shore. Imagined himself there, splayed out on the beach, sand between his toes, Sam at his side.

It doesn't take long after that, holed up in some corner of a raggedy bar, for him to message.

Sup, puddin cup?

  


Hello, Isaac.

He's taking a late night jog around the Terminal's track when he gets the message. Immediately his night is brighter.

How's your night?

  


Ugh I wish I could hear you say that again.

It's like a ghost memory by this point okay.

Actually continues to read the messages sent to him.

It's okayyy though. On site leave.

Shore leave I mean.

  


Say what again?

And I thought you had poor circulation and despised that ice planet of yours.

  


My name.

And don't even come at me with that, I do I hate it but Ray was getting on my fuckin nerves so bad and Mclane kept giving me bitch work so I cracked.

And now I'm here. Freezing my ass off, but the booze is good okay.

  


_His name,_ alright, well Sam's officially endeared.

Mmhm.

Well of they're getting on your nerves too bad, just give me their numbers.

PFC Samuel Ortez reporting in, here to verbally reprimand anyone who annoys my

His _what_ now?

Isaac.

  


No tho.

I mean cause you're cute and all, my _hero_ okay, but your number is mine it's all I have keeping you with me so it's only mine forever now.

Deal with it.

  


There is a lot more than just that keeping me with you.

Oh, thank you for the last care package by the way. I haven't had Pringles since I enlisted. But if you aren't careful all that junk food you've been sending me is going to put me wildly out of shape.

  


I mean like literally though.

If we didn't text I wouldn't have another way of contacting you.

But listen though here a secret.

_Dad bods are hot as shit._

I'll give you twinkies next time.

  


I'd find a way.

Carrier pigeon, if necessary.

And also Isaac Gates, are you trying to _fatten me up?_

  


Space pigeon. That actually sounds adorable, give him a little helmet. I love it.

There you go with my name again ugh it life does things to me.

Things like this booze.

But nooo I'm totally nooot, never not me~

  


Does things to him, hm? It's ... interesting. To think that Sam has that kind of effect over this man.

The cute comment makes him laugh, though. He pauses in his jog, doubled over and panting, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

You're ridiculous.

How about this: You stop trying to give me a dad bod, and I'll call you every night and say your name.

  


How about ...

Cause he's had a few drinks by now and he's feeling saucy.

You call me and make me say _your_ name every night, hmm?

  


I really don't think I could make you do anyt

Oh.

_Oh._

Straightens up, his hand flying over his face.

  


You're adorably dense, I'll say it to the day I die.

It makes me laugh.

  


I've just never been _flirted at_ like this before okay? Cut me some slack.

Flustered, but it's true. Sam's never had the experience.

  


I can't, it's too good.

I like how flustered you get I can almost picture it.

Also I find it hard to imagine no one's ever really flirted with you before. It's like I physically can't help myself.

  


Not ... the way you do it.

And if someone has made a pass I wouldn't know it because I don't tend to notice people I'm not interested in.

  


Tell me what's different then.

Besides the fact that you're totally into me.

  


Well for one you're a man.

And if a man has ever come onto me, I didn't notice.

Honest, even if it's not the full picture. This is Sam's first time finding interest in another man, after all.

  


Which is still ... Wait.

If you're not interested in women, and haven't ever done anything with a guy.

Sam are you just like asexual or something? Not that it's a big deal but like listen I have questions and that would be the answer ok.

  


I …

Alright. Is it time to fess up? Tell Isaac that he's always dated women in the past but now that Isaac is in the picture things have changed? Fuck, though, that makes it sound _creepy._ Like he'd been hiding something to get close to Isaac in the first place, instead of the dumb misunderstanding it has all been.

I don't feel like I'm asexual when I talk to you.

Another honest truth. Speaking to Isaac is like dipping his body into the lashing solar flares of a bright star.

  


It's not a straightforward answer, for which he sighs into his Dark n Stormy. But then again, it really doesn't have to be.

  


Sam makes him feel good, and he makes Sam feel good. That's all that really matters, right?

Even if you did though you know that's okay, right?

Like this isn't

I mean it doesn't have to be

Words are hard.

  


He's falling, swift and hard, and Sam barely knows what to do with that feeling, but that's okay isn't it? Because Isaac hasn't let him down yet.

The connection is more important than anything sexual that could be done.

He supplies this succinctly, knowing it's true for him, but also—

I can't deny that I'm ... interested. In you. In that way.

  


Okay like it would be fine right? Any other way, but _I had my hopes up._

Feels better with that, melts back into his seat in a secluded booth in the back of the bar.

Usually he'd have a gaggle of soldiers around, locals, hooping it up. All he needs right now though is Sam's company.

And therefore I will continue to tease you relentlessly.

  


Takes a breath, going for a light jog now instead of the grueling run from earlier.

Be careful.

One day I'll figure out how to tease you back.

  


I'm a steel trap.

Just try me, Ortez, u won't.

Erupts in giggles, feeling truly warm for the first time all day.

  


Is that a challenge?

His pace lessens to a brisk walk, one eyebrow raised questioningly, amused.

  


Maybe it is, hmm?

What're you gonna do about it?

Nothin~

  


Maybe I just don't want to give you all my moves while you're drunk and easy?

It would be unfair to you.

  


Now you listen here.

I'm not drunk I've had _two drinks._ I'm just loose and happy.

Also I'm not easy either, I've just already picked you so there.

  


Already picked him? That's ... his stomach clenches, and Sam shakes his head, fond, wanted.

I have a theory.

On how to woo you.

  


Lay it on me, I'm very intrigued.

  


Ah, see, but if I tell you, the efficacy of my plan could diminish greatly.

And I do plan to woo you.

  


Why don't you just start now then?

You've already gotten such a good foot in.

The thought of it though, to be wooed by this man. It heats him from the inside out.

  


A foot is the last thing I want in.

Teasing.

But I've already started, I believe. It's a simple strategy, but the most effective ones usually are.

You'll see in time.

  


You're such a ridiculous tease, Sam.

Can I tell you something?

  


Yes, anything.

  


I've never been with anyone like you before.

  


Blinks.

How so?

  


You're my friend first of all.

And like not a hook-up for another.

It's weird cause I already care about you, just as a person and I don't generally

Get attached.

  


Each message is like a punch to the chest. Sam clutches his phone tightly.

I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the wooing.

But I

I'm the same, you know. Not about hook-ups, but. Getting attached.

I haven't. In a very long time. Except now.

  


I was just telling it like it is.

If I wooed you that's just honestly a bonus.

My turn tho, gimme something.

  


Hm.

What to give, though? So many options. He settles on the first thing to come to mind.

When I close my eyes, I see you. Well, hear you, I guess. Above me.

It helps me sleep.

  


It works perfectly, some pleasant heat building up around his heart.

I'll just have to call you more often.

Give you the real thing.

  


Which gives me ample opportunity to say your name, as previously promised.

It warms him, though, that this little admission hadn't come across as too soft or too _much._

  


No one says my name, y'know.

Just Gates, sometimes my call sign, but never my name.

I like that you're the only one.

  


Good.

I like that you're this loose-lipped with only two drinks. We should do a video call when you're like this, sometime.

Pauses after he sends the message, because the offer had come so easily on instinct, and yet the implication strikes him the moment after: he'd be showing his face.

  


It's relaxing okay, just talking to you feels good. Like ...

There's no expectation, right? I'm not your superior, so you don't owe me anything, and you're not mine so vice versa.

You're just you and that means I get to just be me..

Pauses though at the thought of a _video call_ of all things. Because as much as he wouldn't mind Sam seeing his face, he's not sure it would be so easy the other way around.

I'd like to do that though, y'know. I wouldn't even have to see if you didn't want, but yeah.

  


I like you.

_Like this,_ he means to say, but ends it just there and finds nothing wrong with the words. They're honest. Simple, maybe, but raw. At least for him.

Because he really does like this man. Every part he's seen so far—the strength, his generosity. Even the prodding little quips he makes, poking at a desire Sam hadn't even realized he held.

Just you. Don't need to be anything else for me.

The offer rings in his head. It's tempting.

I want to see you. Of course. But. I don't think it would be very fair if you didn't get to see me.

  


Just like you don't need to be anything else for me, yeah?

This is a first for me but I'ma tell you something.

What you look like doesn't really matter. So if you don't want me to see you, then that's kosher with me, and if you want it to be evensies then we'll do neck down.

Simple as that, big guy.

  


I don't understand how you can be so

Waves his hand before realizing Isaac can't see the gesture. _What are we?_ sits heavy in his mind. It's been a little over a week since that first conversation, and things have gone on pretty normal since then. Not that Sam minds—it's soothing, actually, to know that his favorite parts about this man haven't changed.

But he's been simmering. And the vision behind his eyelids every time he closes them has not gone away.

Sweet, and endearing, all at once.

Isn't there a certain precedent behind neck down video calls?

  


I mean

He's laughing again, a little louder than he should be, but this makes him happy. Even if Sam's not here with him, this is enough.

Something he's been waiting his whole life for without ever knowing it.

Just to be known, understood, accepted for who he is, who he wants to be for this person. They'd connected so quickly and so deeply it's ...

If you wanna see me shirtless all you gotta do is ask~

  


Jesus. What would that be like? A man's chest hasn't ever done it for him before, and he knows Isaac is teasing him now, but the thought sticks and Sam dwells on it. Maybe it would be good, in the long run. A little personal experiment. Something to gauge his attraction to Isaac's body, because Sam finds he's already rather attracted to his words, his personality.

Same for you, then.

Tit for tat.

Wait I mean, no pun intended. Really.

  


People are giving me weird looks from how much I'm laughing at you right now.

Looks more like it'll be tit for tit, huh?

But now he's the one feeling slightly self conscious. Sam had mentioned scars, all those weeks ago, when he'd talked about someone being unattractive.

It was specific enough to stick with him, and well he isn't a pristine marble statue by any means.

Though I feel like I should warn you cause you mentioned it and now I'm overthinking but

I mean I have scars on my chest. Pretty much everywhere, actually. So if that's a turn off for you I uh can just not, y'know?

  


I bet you're relishing in the attention.

The admission strikes him. Scars. He touches the one on his face unconsciously. Isaac speaks as if he's recognized something in Sam, and though Sam hasn't really expressed why, exactly, he'd rather his face remain unseen, he wouldn't put it past this man to have soaked up little pieces of information _(you mentioned it)_ here and there.

But that information has been applied incorrectly.

No, I. That.

His head gets all jumbled up and Sam shakes it.

I'm having trouble expressing myself. Give me a moment.

He takes a deep breath. Counts to one hundred. Buzzing thoughts begin to settle.

I am not adverse to scars. And I would not be adverse to yours, because they are on you, and I like you, and whatever makes you up is something I find myself more and more attracted to each day.

  


Nursing his third drink, there's a calm that settles over him as he waits for Sam to gather his thoughts. It isn't a long wait, however.

Okay now take that

He starts as he reads the response, head floating, chest warm and compressed, like he's being held from the inside out.

And also apply it to yourself, but from me.

Because same though. You're you and because you're attached to you, I'm into it. All of you, even the parts you don't like.

That probably doesn't make sense it's very cold down here.

  


No, it. Makes sense, and I don't believe the climate would change that.

But it's

Different. Because, what had Isaac said all those months ago? That scars indicated the ability to endure. For Isaac, that's exactly what his scars represent: survival. But for Sam?

Failure.

That's all he's ever seen it as, for 6 long years. And yet, things are changing, aren't they? He's built an attachment to someone. Found an attraction he thought just never existed, nevermind the fact that he hasn't felt this way at all _towards anyone_ in all these years.

Things are changing. Isaac makes him _want_ to change.

It's frightening. To believe one thing for so long about yourself, and be shown another way.

  


Oh. If that doesn't hit a little too close to home.

He drinks, and drinks, reading the messages sent to him over and over for a short moment, feeling uneasy. Like Sam had reached through the phone to gaze straight through him.

Cold makes me mentally lethargic. Words can get jumbled, thoughts confused.

But uh. Yeah.

I know the feeling.

Not that it's something he'll ever share. Not one living soul knows his darkest secret, only the people involved, and even then they're so far detached from him now. Like they don't even exist.

One goal complete.

  


Ah. So adding alcohol to the mix does no favors, hm?

Tired now, but not unhappy with present company, Sam stretches sore muscles and starts the trip back to his barracks.

And, well.

He debates on saying this next bit. But it feels right.

I'll never ask, and you'll never have to tell. But if at any point you want to share the burden, I'm right here for you. Alright?

  


Alcohol and you help keep my insides warm, but aside from sitting on my fingers, nothing's helping those.

And you know that goes same for you, right?

Sharing is caring.

  


He shakes his head, a huffed breath bursting from his lips. The offer fills him up, though, and for the first time in years ... he considers it.

Not now, of course. But if he ever needed anyone to know that part of him, he'd want it to be this man.

Speaking of sharing, I would like a picture of your body.

  


A hard right change in subject, but that's alright. He's buzzed enough to allow it without thinking twice.

Oooo, yeah?

I'm into that.

Hmm though I gotta finish this drink I'm not actually about to strip in front of the locals.

  


As amusing as that image is, I'm also not keen on sharing it.

But at your leisure. What are you drinking? Wait. Let me guess. Dark'n'Stormy?

  


What ever happened to sharing is caring, Sam?

But yeah it's my go to favorite~ thinking about branching out but this bar is very uh

Low budget.

  


I'll share if it's between us. Only you.

Try a Mexican Mule for me.

  


You're adorable.

I could just eat you right up.

What's in your mule?

  


If I recall correctly

And he does.

You said you would prefer to keep all of my pieces attached to me, for the express purpose of keeping me in your room.

And it's the same as your Dark'n'Stormy, but with a tequila base instead of rum.

My favorite.

  


But I bet you're so tasty.

Can't I have just a little nibble?

Oh though, great minds huh? No wonder we mesh so well, we have the same taste~

  


It's ridiculous, and yet a familiar-unfamiliar heat singes his blood at the words.

Isaac, Jesus.

Yeah. I mean.

Flustered.

I feel the same. Was surprised by it, actually. How close I

Shakes his head.

  


How close you what?

I like having you all flustered y'know. I can just imagine your cheeks and how they get like a dusty pink.

Once I get to see you I'll never wanna look away.

  


Has anyone ever made him feel like this? Wanted, flushed, heated. Both safe and _in danger_ just by talking.

How close I feel to you.

Which isn't going to last long if you keep talking like this because I _will_ combust.

  


I don't think you will~

I think you're not used to it but you're really into it and just dunno what to do with yourself.

You could always bunk up yknow~ Release a little bit of that tension for me.

  


I don't

What

Wait. Does ... Isaac mean what he thinks he means? Sam presses a hand over his face, flushed like never before. A fellow soldier walks by on his way back to his room, gives him a questioning look, and Sam counters by averting his eyes and walking briskly forward.

It's not _that_ okay?

Surely not, right?

It's just heat in my spine, alright? And sometimes you say things and it feels tight like a coil and

I

Guess ...

Okay well he's fucked.

  


I don't mean to step on your toes, big guy, but

That sounds exactly like what you need~

You want that pic of me shirtless first?

  


Oh my God.

He finally makes it to his room. Striker's gone, of course. Sam shuts the door. Keeps the lights off when he sits on the bed.

I want that picture of you, but I had no intention of _pleasuring myself_ to it.

  


Hmm, that seems like a waste tbh~

You totally could, y'know.

I don't mind.

  


Wouldn't that be ... weird?

Swallows heavily. Because he really truly hadn't intended to do that at all, but Isaac brings it up and now it's the only thing his obsessive mind can think about.

Stupid.

  


I like you.

You like me.

What's weird about it?

  


Because if I touch myself to you it's the only thing I'll be able to think about every time I talk to you or hear you or see you.

  


A+

Very hot, I'm into it.

  


_Isaac._

I can't just

That's just not something I do.

He's never touched himself to the thought of another man. Ever. But just considering it, being teased about it, with the image of Isaac (thin body, fit, those long nice legs) …

  


Hey hey, relax, Sam.

Maybe he should tone it back, he's dicking around, serious yeah, but he's not here to make Sam uncomfortable.

There's nothing you _have_ to do, yeah?

  


I mean

I know that. It's just.

I've never been. This attracted to someone before. So it's.

Sighs.

  


_Oh._

That's pretty fucking cute though.

Overwhelming?

  


Deflates.

Yeah.

Not bad. Not something I _don't_ want. Just.

A lot.

  


You are

Actually adorable

And it pleases me.

I'm going to send you a picture as soon as I get back to my hotel room and you can do with it what you will.

Now the real question is, another drink or should I get something to go.

  


You always please me.

It slips from his fingers before he can think to _not._ But it's true. Isaac makes him feel right. Good. Safe. In this, and all other things.

Have another drink. I'm not done talking with you just yet.

And what about you, by the way?

  


What about me what?

Yes you always please me too~

  


You're welcome to ... 

You know.

I don't mind.

  


_Don't tempt me,_ you know what booze does to me Saaam.

  


I do.

That's why I'm saying it's okay. I mean. I kind of like the idea.

  


Oh, alright then that's a thing. But it isn't that he hasn't thought of it before, right? Gotten close, more than, a few times.

You do, huh?

And what do you like about it?

  


....

I'm not telling.

Flushed and embarrassed. He flops back on his cot.

  


Laughing, he orders another drink, third one down to the dredges before he'd even realized. doesn't feel the need to rush though, not with this and not with Sam.

Aww, c'mon big guy, don't clam up on me now.

I like to know what you like.

  


You like to know that you _affect_ me. The details are completely unnecessary.

Rubbing at the heat on his cheek.

  


Can't I like both?

He's never had this much fun doing something like this before.

  


I mean _yes_ but.

It's embarrassing.

  


What do you have to be embarrassed about?

It's just me, y'know~

  


I believe you are a very dangerous man to give such damning information to.

  


I wouldn't hold any of it against you~

  


Closes his eyes for a moment, assessing the situation. Isaac, teasing him relentlessly. But he remembers what the man had said months ago. How he gets in a certain mood when he's drinking. Likes bringing back someone, for that closeness, that look in their eye like he's something _more._

And now, here, Isaac's been drinking, and has turned thoughtlessly to Sam, as if there was no question who he wants to look at him in such a way.

You get to me.

Like no one else ever has.

And I am absolutely holding the details hostage until you've sent me that picture.

  


Ugh _fine._

Even though you're the one who told me to order another drink and everything.

You'll have to wait until I'm back in my room cause I really don't feel like stripping down in this bar.

  


I don't mind the wait.

I like talking to you.

We can play a game, actually. If you'd like?

  


Ooo a game, now you're speaking my language.

Too bad spin the bottle is out of the question.

  


Hm.

In a game of spin the bottle between two people, what happens when the bottle points at the wall?

  


That wall is gettin some.

  


You're ridiculous.

Laughs, arm slung behind his head.

Send me a picture of someone at the bar.

  


He's been in here every time I have.

Seems lonely.

  


Interesting.

Alright. He likes a dark lager. He's older. Dressed for the cold, jacket's beat up, so probably a local. Half eaten plate of food.

Theory #1: He's a pimp with a heart of gold who's just looking for love right now. But his tastes run a little young, so every girl he meets online turns and leaves the second they spot him from across the bar.

People watching. Something Sam has imagined him and Isaac doing together, shoulder to shoulder. Sharing warmth and unlikely stories.

What's his biggest vice?

  


Oh that's rather cute now isn't it? Not a game he thought would be brought up, but one he participates in by himself quite a bit.

Hmm, I'd say the drink. It's how he got into his pimping in the first place, wife left him, no kids, no one to look after. So he drinks and peddles girls, but like probably nicely y'know?

Seems like a good guy.

  


Ah. Hm, then let's reassess.

Maybe not a pimp. Maybe he rescues orphaned children off the streets. But his wife didn't have as big a heart and eventually moved away from all the hassle because he poured all their money into donations, and, eventually, drinking.

I bet he's good at poker. He looks the type.

Send me another picture?

  


No one's ever done this with me before yknow.

I think it's fun.

  


Yeah?

People watching is fascinating and

They mesh so well. Drinks, personalities. It's ridiculous and Sam is an idiot for being entirely too pleased with this new information.

I like doing things like this with you.

  


I think so too.

Where have you been all my life, huh?

  


Breath catches. It's almost unfair to be so taken with a man who's face he's never even seen.

Uh.

Colorado, mostly.

  


No wonder, I guess.

Out of space and time, my friend.

  


Glad I met you, though.

Alright. The bartender? Tell me your theory.

  


Oh him?

Definitely UNSC drop out, right?

He couldn't handle it, chose to be dropped off on the nearest planet because he couldn't go home and face his disappointed family.

  


Is his name Striker by any chance?

Laughs, pleased with this time spent between them.

But yes, UNSC drop out. I imagine he has a tough façade, but has a violent physical reaction every time someone raises their voice at him above a certain decibel, and simply bursts into tears.

  


Hah, poor guy, is Striker that bad then?

Maybe not cry at the drop of a hat, but in that realm?

  


He's …

Definitely the emotional sort.

  


And you've imprinted on him, huh?

  


Listen.

He'd probably lose a fight between himself and an uncooked potato.

He just needs a little help is all.

  


I'm dying. That mental image.

I want a picture of him sometime.

  


Hm. Can do.

As long as you don't use it for the same purposes you would use mine.

A tease.

  


As long as you're not twins, I mean.

I'm only a man, after all, and if there was two of you?

I wouldn't survive it.

  


Laughs.

No, not twins.

And you're telling me my sparkling personality isn't what gets you off? _Rude._

  


What I'm saying is

_I'm only a man._

Really though, I ain't gonna be doing that. I ain't even seen below your clothes and you already super do it for me.

I could probably get off to your voice alone, let's be honest.

  


Swallows thickly at the thought.

Yeah?

Something to consider, then.

  


Do not tease me with that you don't _understand_ how good your voice is.

  


Who says it's a tease?

I could call you late at night when you're cozy and curled in bed. Phone pressed to your ear. I'd speak to you after, too, while you drift.

As long as you want me to.

  


Okay he's officially bitten off more than he can chew with this. It's the drink, it's _Sam,_ it's everything all at once and he's here for it.

But also here. In this cold bar alone and ...

That's happening. Whenever you want I don't care but _I need it._

Christ, Sam.

  


His heart beats at an unhealthy pace. He'd been joking. But not. Isaac's offered him so much, teased him so much tonight, he thought he'd return the favor.

But the man sounds affected by it and Sam realizes he's certainly not against ... trying. Something like that.

What would Isaac _sound like?_ That ringing tenor voice, scratchy with desire.

Jesus.

Yeah, we can

I mean I've never done that before but

If you want. Just. You have to promise to tell me if I'm lame and turning you off okay?

His face can't get any hotter.

  


I don't think that could ever happen.

You're far too good at teasing, a natural, no doubt.

  


With you, maybe.

You're easy to talk to. When you're not making me combust.

  


You've not imploded yet, I think you'll make it~

  


It's a close thing. Just under my skin.

  


Like I said, think you just need to do something about all that pent up energy~

  


I actually ...

Haven't.

Since I got here.

  


...

Sam that's _months._

How are you even alive right now?

  


I haven't felt the need for it.

Until now.

  


Asexual, the word pops out in his mind again.

Seriously?

I would keel over. Straight up.

  


I'm beginning to understand that feeling.

  


Don't worry, I can't take much more of this conversation in public so you'll have your picture soon~

  


It should be weird, right? Sam's gone his whole life thinking one thing about himself. Then in waltzes Isaac and upends everything he thought he knew.

He'll be able to dissect the feeling a little better with that picture.

Eagerly awaiting.

Would ... you like one as well?

  


I wouldn't say no to that.

But you don't have to, of course, if that's something that makes you feel weird yknow?

The thought pinches his stomach, twists it in knots, but he's not willing to make Sam uncomfortable. Not for anything.

  


A picture of my body? No, not at all.

He's curious how that could even be a pleasant picture to begin with. It's just a male torso, after all. He peeks down the long length of it, remembering his workout.

I'll have to shower first. I'm disgusting right now.

  


Oh _God._

Just the thought of it, long planes of dark skin shimmering with water drops, how it would curl and dip between cut muscle. He's getting ahead of himself but can't quite stop.

Were you working out or something?

Seriously I'm finishing this drink and leaving.

  


Mmhm. Nightly run.

I have to burn off those extra calories from all the snacks you send me.

  


I like to provide, what can I say?

Finishes up his last drink, a Mexican Mule, before paying his tab at the bar.

By the way, your drink of choice? A+ would order again.

  


_Provide._ That's ... really cute.

Glad you liked it. We'll have to drink together sometime.

Jumping in the shower. Be safe on the way back, okay?

  



	9. Scene IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it's on time this time! Love ya'll. <3
> 
> —

Sergeant Isaac Gates?

This is Lance Corporal Samuel Ortez speaking.

Hi.

He sends the messages with a wide grin.

  


_Lance Corporal_ Ortez, lookit you~

He's left grinning, something like pride expanding in his chest.

Has a nice ring to it, huh?

  


Kind of does, yes.

I didn't think it would feel this good.

He's happy. Happier all the more because he can sense Isaac's approval.

  


It always does.

Big accomplishment, yknow?

You did well.

  


Buzzing. Excited. Isaac praising him for a job well done never gets old—feels just as amazing as that first time, that first _good man._

  


Better watch out. I'm catching up to you.

  


Mhm, I believe I was the one to say that you'd make Sergeant in no time~

So you're getting into your program soon, right?

  


Laughs, because he'd been teasing but it's nice that Isaac supports him all the same.

And I'm the one who said I didn't want it, yeah?

But, yes! I've already applied and I've been accepted. I'll be leaving for Earth at the end of the week.

Striker's coming with, actually.

  


Yeah? Be careful, keep tagging along with him and I'm bound to get jealous.

Really though, that's really good. I'm happy for you.

  


No reason to get jealous. It's not like I think about him when I

Wait. Overtell.

  


Hmm?

When you what?

He's left grinning again, knowing where this is going, certainly.

  


You know very well what.

A flash of that night just a couple weeks ago flies through his head. The picture he'd sent, fresh out of the shower. And the one he'd gotten in return, Isaac's pale body, the planes of a fit chest and perky pink nipples, hint of hair trailing from naval to dip beneath his shorts. Skin littered in raised scars, proof of the hell he's been through.

Proof that he came out the other end, like this, warm and strong.

And what Sam had done _after._ It bears no mention.

  


Huh?

I don't think I do.

Tell me what you do when you think about me~

  


You're awful, the meanest person I know, truly.

Hand over his hot face. He's at lunch in the mess hall. A few squadmates give him a look, but make no mention. Yet.

  


You know I just can't keep my curiosity to myself.

And you adore me so don't even come at me with that.

  


_You adore me_ fuck if it isn't true. Sam's "problem" has only gotten worse and worse. Full on crush levels of bad.

I am literally squashed between Striker and Yeats right now and you want me to admit that I jack it to thoughts of you.

  


Mmm yes, that's the stuff.

He's giggling to himself, garnering attention, but he can't bring himself to care. He got Sam to say it, for one, and it's laugh or pop an actual boner in the middle of the gym.

  


You think you're being coy but you're really just admitting how easy you are for me.

Curls his phone closer to his chest because now Striker is peering over trying to sneak a peek.

  


We both know how easy I am for you, ain't no secret.

It would be unbecoming if I gave a shit, but really I'd jack it right here and now if you gave me the right incentive.

  


_Oh._

Sam pauses with a fork halfway to his mouth. The little chunk of pineapple speared on the end falls off and plops back down on his tray.

And, uh. Where exactly is "here and now?"

  


At the gym getting some training in. No one's here at midday so I could totally sneak one out in the showers.

  


So the thing is, Sam hadn't made assumptions. He'd sent his picture. Knew Isaac was attracted to him physically—that the man had the _capacity_ to be physically attracted to him—but hadn't asked.

Was content to know what he got up to, himself, late at night. Which, by the way? Had been _quite_ an awakening.

But for Isaac to admit it so readily, now?

That isn't

There's no way you would actually do that.

  


If you actually think that then you don't know me as well as I thought you did.

  


I mean we haven't exactly

I don't know _that_ part of you, so

He swallows. Striker peers over his shoulder and Sam jerks to the side quickly to hide the conversation, sending a hard glare over his shoulder.

  


I'm joking~

Well not about the rubbing one out in the gym shower. Been feeling insatiable lately, and I'm fairly certain that's your fault.

  


How is your sexual appetite my fault?

  


Are you kidding me?

You tease me allll the time, and I totally have that picture of you as my phone background.

  


....

It's your _what_ now?

  


I can't further enunciate in text form, Sam.

  


You do realize that's something that couples do, right?

  


Okay for one, it was a joke, it's not my background I just keep it in a second window on my phone.

And for second, is that not kosher for you?

The couple thing?

  


Blinks.

Of course it's kosher, I just thought

I mean I didn't know if

What to call. It?

And now he's gone and embarrassed himself. Just some idiot _apparently not as straight as he thought_ guy fumbling with desires and connections that really aren't that feasible for them.

Right?

  


You're adorable when you're flustered. I know I say it every time but it never gets old.

Call it what you like, you're mine.

Because it ain't like he's opposed either. Maybe a little inexperienced with the relationship part of ... well their relationship, but he knows himself to understand that Sam?

Is kinda it for him right now. And has been for a hot second.

  


A held breath, released.

Let's agree to call it Stockholm Syndrome if I get any more attached.

  


What?

That implies some serious consent issues which are no bueno to me.

  


Shakes his head. He'd laugh, except Striker's currently staring at him and Sam's not sure the guy has actually ever heard him laugh before.

Alright. Infatuation, then. Fondness.

When I refer to you as my boyfriend, Striker is going to lose his shit, by the way.

  


There we go, that's much better.

Tell me you like me for me not my ability to render you psychosomatically in love with me.

Why's that though? He not a fan or what?

  


Well that's a $10 word.

But no, he's fine with that. I've just never shown interest in anyone before.

And of course he'll want _details._

I expect payment in nudes.

But give him whatever details you want. If he bugs you too much I'll have him court-martialed.

  


You've gone mad with power.

He chuckles, softly.

Oh, finally got a picture from him, by the way:

Private Louis Striker. 23 years old and just as mature as you'd expect.

He grows on you, though.

  


He's _23?_

I mean he looks like what you've described as his personality I guess.

Kinda cute though, I'd give him a solid six.

  


I'll be sure to tell him the number you've given him.

Beyond amused.

But yeah, the beard makes him look older. Which is why I'm plotting to shave it off before we set out to Earth.

  


Sam the prank master. I'm here for it.

Also you have to tell me his reaction, highlight of my day right there, bet.

  


He considers for a moment. Hums. Then puts his phone down and does just that. When he picks it back up, he's grinning.

He gasped in real life.

Also said you're blind, and I must admit, that does bear the question as to how his face got a 6, but my clothed torso got a 10 from you.

Do you need correctional lenses?

Teasing, but all too pleased with Isaac's assessment. That Sam could be ... maybe ... still the person he's more attracted to. Faceless as he is to the man.

  


Are you kidding?

He's a womanizer who can't get women, the _only_ thing that's saving him is the beard.

You, however, are hilarious and fucking stacked, not to mention the fact that _you're you_ and your skin is like a perfect shade of warm caramel.

Easy assessment, no glasses needed.

  


...

Breathless as a giddy feeling rises in the back of his throat. Isaac hasn't even seen him yet, not really, and he's just— god, this does nothing to help Sam's absolute infatuation with the man.

I'm not saying right now, because you're at the gym and I'm not really ... ready. But.

Soon, I want to call you and tell you about all the things you do to me.

Especially when you say stuff like this.

  


Oh.

He swallows, throat clicking dry as he does so. Hadn't meant to do anything in particular, but he'd been called out so he had to defend himself. Hadn't been thinking on what that could do to Sam in turn.

That sounds like a helluva good time.

I'll pencil you in, big guy~

Coy, even though his heart is pretty much beating out of his chest.

  


Good. It's a date.

Now I'm going to need a subject change before I'm the one with a ... problem ... in the cafeteria.

Actually wait, maybe we should try a 

I mean would you be into ...

Just get the words out Ortez, you're acting like a fumbling teen.

Would you like to go on a date with me?

  


A date, huh?

Has he even been on one of those since, what, high school? How would that even work with them so far away?

Now he's the one out of depth here.

Uh yeah, sure thing.

I don't

I mean I'm not very well versed

In that kinda thing.

  


Oh.

It doesn't happen often, but when Isaac isn't sure how to proceed, it's kind of adorable.

_Now_ who's the flustered one, hm?

And that's okay, all you have to do is follow my lead. As long as you're okay with it? A date with me, I mean.

  


I'm not _flustered._

I just

Don't want to disappoint? Don't want to let you down?

Sometimes he feels his age with Sam, and even moreso with the way he's spoken of Striker. A typical 23 year old.

What would that mean for him? Would Sam feel weird if he knew exactly how young ...

Yeah, course I'm okay with it.

And he starts to spiral.

  


You just what?

He tilts his head. Feels sometimes that there's some invisible thread between them, stretching entire solar systems. It tugs, here.

  


It's nothing.

And it isn't, not really. Because how can it be something if he's never even thought about it until now, right?

Hence, nothing.

What kinda date were you thinking?

  


Isaac.

Please?

  


Ugh you fuckin kill me with that.

I'm just nervous, okay?

I don't want to make you not like me. There ya happy?

  


Nervous. He'd find it endearing, but that's too ... demeaning. Sam swallows. Takes a moment to excuse himself from the table, clean up his tray. It's as he's walking out of the mess hall that he gathers his thoughts enough to respond.

Isaac. There is nothing you could do that could make me not like you.

Unless you said you didn't like me.

And that wouldn't make me not like you so much as just make me ... sad.

  


There are things you don't know, things that might matter.

Seriously I just don't know what I'm doing.

I can do a quick fuck but this is like next level and exnay on the fucking so yeah.

  


_I just don't know what I'm doing_ well if that isn't the crux of the problem for Sam himself, he doesn't know what is.

_I don't either,_ he wants to say. Wants to point out the fact that he's never been with a guy, never been interested in men before, and how he's so terribly out of his element, but it still feels like a betrayal of some kind to even mention it.

He's just gonna have to carry that social blunder with him for the rest of his life.

Listen.

I never thought I would be attracted to anyone else ever again. And yet here I am, hot and flustered just by talking to you.

So maybe we're both a little out of our element here.

But that's okay, because. I mean. I like you. Fuck, you were right. I kind of adore you. And I've never even seen your face.

So just. Everything else will come with time, won't it?

  


This man is pure and precious and too much for him to handle right now or quite possibly ever.

Sam takes to him with a gentle ease, words comforting, endearing sweet. Like he knows exactly what to say to funnel calm back into their conversation.

He breathes, inhales nice and deep.

You're right.

With time.

Call me tonight?

  


I'll call you right now if you want.

Just say the word.

  


Nah it's all good. I need to jump in the shower and you're at lunch, yeah?

It can wait.

  


Just finished up. And phones are waterproof for a reason, aren't they?

But.

Seriously, call me whenever you need. Or want. I'll be making plans for our date in the meantime.

And I don't want you to be concerned about it, yeah? I already like you so we've passed the most difficult hurdle.

  


You're a big softie, y'know that?

I'm expecting a video call soon too btw, don't think I've forgotten about that.

  


How about

During my training on Earth?

That gives him a timeline. Something solid to work towards. Three months. No more than three months, and he'll ... well he's not sure what, but he knows he doesn't want to wait any longer than that to take the next step with Isaac.

Whatever that might be.

  


Yeah, sounds great.

  


Take your shower, Isaac. I'll text you the details of our date in a few days.

Wear something nice, if you can.


	10. Scene X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the lovely comments. I'll respond asap. ♥
> 
> —

About a week later, after Sam's gotten shipped off to Earth and has started his formal training to become a UNSC sniper, he sends Isaac a text at precisely 7pm. A picture message, of him in a new bathroom surrounded by wooden painted walls, from the neck down, sporting a simple black button-up and charcoal pants.

Hello, Isaac.

You can open your package now.

  


Nervous doesn't even begin to cover it. No matter what Sam had said, relaxing? Ain't exactly what's happening right now.

He'd dressed up, like he'd been told. A dark navy blue button up, pulled together by a pair of black chinos. Had taken a picture of himself in anticipation for proving he'd done as told.

It's seven on the dot that he gets the message, Sam, from the neck down as is customary for them. Looking like some sort of cut marble Greek god all dressed up.

He feels incredibly out of his element.

Hi.

Uh do you want a picture?

I mean I took one earlier. For you.

  


I would enjoy that quite a bit, yes.

Isaac seems shy, and if that isn't the final nail in Sam's coffin then he doesn't know what ever could be.

He moves to his room—a private one and it's kind of amazing—and sits down at a small chair and table set up in one corner.

Tell me when you get to that package I sent.

  


Sends off his picture before he can second guess and spend another ten minutes trying to get the best shot. It's just him in the bathroom, smirk the highest thing showing in the picture.

Okay I'm here, gonna open it now.

  


He saves it, immediately, the warmth in Sam's chest growing tenfold just looking at those coyly tilted lips.

You look really good.

He means it. The more Sam's gotten to know this man, the more physically attractive Isaac gets for him.

But alright.

He waits patiently, pulling out a mirror of the items he had sent: a bottle of wine, white, a sweet chardonnay, with a plastic wine cup; a single white gardenia, cut, which he'd had a hell of a time finding a supplier to ship one over in a timely manner; and a smaller bottle of beer, completely empty and washed out, with the cap missing.

I would have sent food, but nothing I wanted to cook you would have survived transit.

  


He opens the box in front of him, not wary but he has absolutely no idea as to what the contents could be. A lifetime of paranoia has him squinting one eye shut as he reveals the contents.

Very ... unexpected.

A bottle of wine (which he's never been much a drinker of, but whites are his preferred), and a plastic cup with which to drink it. A flower, though he's never been much on them so he isn't sure what kind it is. It's pure and white, but has a more subtle scent. Pretty. He drags it across his nose, his lips, to feel the softness.

I know we've had this conversation before but you're stupidly romantic.

  


Laughs, pleased. He cracks open his own bottle of wine (nothing too fancy, just a twist-top) and pours himself a glass, phone sitting in front of him on the table.

I just think you deserve a few soft things in your life, every now and then.

  


Yeah well

He feels flustered at that, for some reason. No one's ever really given him softness, kindness, fuckin romance.

Are you still settling in good over there?

  


I am. There are so few people in the program, we've been given private rooms.

And Virginia is beautiful.

He sips his wine.

  


Cracks into the wine, setting the flower delicately to the side.

I don't remember it well, but I remember that much.

Glad to have a private room~?

  


Another laugh, soft, breathless. Sam sets his own gardenia to his right.

Yes, actually.

For every reason you're thinking. And then some.

I'll send pictures.

Wait I mean. Of the scenery.

  


A giggle, he's starting to relax. Sam has that effect.

Send me pictures of whatever you'd like, big guy.

I'd enjoy that scenery. Yours as well~

  


I've actually never done that before. Sent ... you know.

Guess you're a lot of my firsts.

  


Never??

You've definitely got the body for it, I'll tell ya that.

And I'm content with that. Being your firsts.

  


You bring it out in me. The want to do that.

Another sip of wine, eyes lidded. It's gotten easier to be more candid with this person. Now that Sam knows they're ... a thing.

Dating.

This is their first date.

An excited giddiness expands in his chest.

So, you got the wine, right?

  


Fuck he's cute.

Mhm, just grabbed a cup full.

You got some too?

  


Already drinking it.

Smiles, feeling playful, happy.

Sorry for the ... subpar quality. Still not made of money over here, unfortunately.

_But I wanted us to have something nice, like this, together._

  


Listen, I wouldn't know good wine from a toilet brew, to be honest.

This is good though.

Thanks, big guy.

  


He's never stopped feeling endeared to that nickname.

You're welcome, Isaac.

Now, do you have the other bottle? The empty beer one?

  


Yeah, I was honestly confused but didn't wanna say anything.

What's it for?

  


Spin the bottle, of course.

I didn't want us using the wine bottle, since we'll be drinking from it.

  


_Spin the …_

He laughs, full bodied and louder than he really means to.

You are

Hilarious

I'm into it.

  


Grins, drinking some more wine. He hasn't had enough alcohol to feel flushed, but Isaac gets him there all on his own.

Yeah?

Alright, I had an idea for different rules. Since it's just the two of us and I'm not eager to make out with these walls.

  


What, your new private room ain't good enough for ya, Sam?

  


Let's just say my standards have risen since meeting you.

  


I love how you make that sound like a good thing~

Okay tell me your rules.

  


As I intended.

So, I think we should set our phones in front of us. If the neck of the bottle points to your phone, then you owe me a kiss.

And if it points anywhere else, then you have to tell me a truth, whatever you want to give, or I get to give you a dare.

A fusion game, I suppose.

  


Huh. Well done, you've made it possible.

Only, uh

How do we divy out kisses, exactly?

  


I'll keep a tally.

And then, when the stars align and we both get to take an extended vacation, I thought

Maybe

I mean, if you'd like, maybe we could

Cash in. In person. Someday.

  


Fuck yeah.

Yes.

I'm

Excited? Wanting? Pleased? _Enamored._ Everything all at once.

Happy.

Let's go.

  


_Happy._ Fuck. Sam doesn't know what to do with the itchy heavy weight that one word puts on his chest. Only to embrace it. Breathe deep. Let it wash through him.

Yeah? Okay, yes. That

Alright.

You spin first.

He's happy, too.

  


He spins without hesitation.

The bottle ends up facing him, he takes a picture and sends it off.

I kiss me, yay.

  


Laughs, when he's sent a picture of the neck of the bottle facing the camera.

Pretty certain I said if it lands anywhere other than your phone, you have to tell me a truth.

Or I get to give you a dare.

Grinning.

  


Rules are meant to be broken, Samuel~

I'm dying for kisses but okay.

Dare.

  


Hmm.

I dare you to write a creepy hidden message on your bathroom mirror that Ray sees only after he's taken a shower.

  


He laughs a quietly amused little giggle.

So _devious._

Done and done.

Your turn~

  


He spins the bottle, waiting patiently while it makes a few passes before settling somewhere on the corner of a wall.

He snaps a picture, sends it.

I want a dare, as well.

  


Hmm alright.

How likely are you to be able to commandeer a vehicle with a warp drive?

  


....

He laughs, bright and loud and _shocked._

Unlikely.

  


Fiiine.

Didn't wanna set you up for failure.

How about, I dare you to go to a room that isn't yours. Barge in like you just got lost.

Try to make friends~

  


The thought is mortifying.

What like _now?_

  


Mhm.

I don't want you to be lonely all the way out there, y'know~

  


...

For one, I'm not lonely because I have you.

And for another, I hate you.

But he's on his feet the moment after, already striding out into the hallway. Since the program only takes a limited number of trainees, the UNSC houses everyone in an old, big ranch house out in the countryside. It doesn't take Sam but five steps to make it to his neighbor's door.

He does as asked—trying very, very hard not to keel over and die from embarrassment the whole time. It takes approximately seven minutes before he's back in his room.

My neighbor's name is Jericho.

Your turn.

  


Sam returns, much to his amusement. And he's pleased that the guy went through with the dare.

Jericho, that's a cute name~

Snaps a pic of his turn, bottle pointing directly at the place his phone was sitting.

An actual kiss for me~

  


As flustered as he feels after _that_ disastrous introduction (Jericho, dark hair and honey eyes, had only smirked, shook his head, laughed—he'd seemed agreeable enough), Sam settles his heart and finds it aching to give an actual kiss for Isaac's accomplishment.

Which ... should be odd. Kissing another man. He's never thought of it before. Until now.

Alright. I have it tallied. One kiss for you.

Spins his own bottle, watching it circle and circle and circle, taking a picture of the direction it points: left, the wall again.

Hm. I'll tell you a truth this time.

My middle name is Ahyoka, because my parents thought I would be a girl.

  


That's not a name I've heard before.

I like it though actually. If I'm pronouncing it right.

Spins, bottle faces the wall when it stops its rotation.

Sends the picture of it along with one of his wine glass, refilled.

Dare me, Daddy.

  


It means "she brought happiness."

Can I dare you to never call me Daddy again?

One brow, raised.

  


Accurate.

And no, that's not on the table.

You have to take me as I am.

  


I'll take you any way you'd like me to take you.

Grins.

But, for the dare.

How far is he willing to take this? Better question: what is Isaac willing to do?

I want you to call a subordinate and pretend to have an orgasm over the phone.

Does Isaac even have the capacity to feel embarrassment? Sam's interested in finding out.

  


The words hit him low in the gut, _take you anyway you like,_ fuck that sounds so good right now.

Though the next little quip, his dare, grips him even lower.

Alright, I'll take that dare.

Grins wide and wild as he dials Sam's number, waits.

  


◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  


He doesn't understand, at first, why Isaac calls him. He'd agreed (surprisingly enough) to the challenge, but maybe he's having second thoughts?

It's a tall order to fill, and Sam's kind of already patting himself on the back for the idea.

"Isaac, hello?"

Sam picks up readily, though the sound of his voice gives Isaac pause. That tone is addicting, deep and smoothe.

He's going to enjoy this.

_"Sam."_

Pitches his own voice low and rough, breath labored on the edge of a quiet moan.

For one blessed, beautiful second, Sam remains confused enough to only worry that Isaac is in trouble. He's heard his name a handful of times from this man by now, but never quite like _this._

After that lovely second of blissful ignorance, it clicks.

The tone scratchy, low. It reaches into Sam's stomach, lower, grips tight his insides and gives them a good hard shake. Sam swallows, air hitching in his throat.

When he'd dared Isaac to call a subordinate and fake an orgasm, Sam apparently hadn't thought it through well enough, and only just now realizes that he is, technically, Isaac's subordinate.

He parts his lips around a reprimand but the only thing that comes out is a sharp inhale. Shocked.

Turned on.

Fuck.

There's no words that shoot back at him, no rebuttal except a heady, sharp inhale.

They've never done anything like this.

But Sam doesn't hang up, doesn't say no, and Isaac has to take it in stride. Hopeful.

"I'm close, baby, you did so good for me."

Goes with the flow, imagining how this would _really_ play out. How Sam would speak to him, low and soft and heated. He'd get Isaac hard within moments, no doubt, and it's Isaac's imagination of it that effects him now.

"Got me so hard for you."

His cock twitches, hand coming down to grip himself on instinct, just holding fast.

"Are you ready?"

A question. He wants to involve Sam, get some sort of affirmation.

Over the last handful of months—ever since Isaac sent him that picture of his pale body littered with scars—Sam can't deny that he's done his fair share of experimentation. The first time, he'd stared at the picture given, forcing his mind to remain present and think only of that body, male, while he took himself in hand.

It had taken a while, if he's honest. Such a new anatomy to look at. His brain wasn't sure where to find attraction, but his eyes did linger on a jutting collarbone and all those raised scars.

What had gotten him hard, in the end, was his vivid imagination replaying certain words and phrases Isaac had said to him—the thought of his voice, raspy like it is now. Breathless and reedy.

It had gotten easier to get hard quicker, over time.

But they've never done anything like this before, and now Sam finds himself overwhelmed and very much so out of his element. A coiling heat wraps around his spine, settles at the base of it, and he realizes, a bit shocked at the information, that he's growing, right there between his legs, his dick reacting to the words, this ridiculous situation, without Sam ever having to focus on one thing in particular.

A question is asked of him and Sam wets his lips. The reasonable thing to do would be to laugh. Say no. Cut the line. Because he's not into men and this shouldn't even turn him on to begin with.

But, only.

He is aroused. Hears the words (scripted as they are) _got me so hard for you_ and Sam is struck down by them—by even just the crafted, silly fantasy of getting Isaac like that, hard, there, for _him._

"I ... Yes. I'm ready."

His own voice comes out like heavy rubber tires rolling gently over a gravel driveway. Deep. Effected. Sam covers his face with a hand, fingers splayed to touch heat on both cheeks.

Sam responds, slow and rough, voice grinding against gravel in his throat. Effected, certainly, but what truly gets to Isaac is what is actually said.

_Yes._

And perhaps he hadn't really thought this through all the way because now? Isaac doesn't know what to do.

Two options blaze through his mind, all this happening at the speed of light, just behind his eyes. 

First option: he could kinda blow this off as the joke it was meant to be in the first place. Could laugh, breathless and heavy with want, but diffuse the situation nonetheless.

Could save them from some embarrassment, an awkward let down, because that's not what they're here for right now.

A second option: Isaac could not laugh, not make fun of this bubbling attraction between them. He feels softer toward it anyway, almost kinda respectful of it.

He hasn't ever felt connected to anyone like he does Sam, and he can't speak for the guy, but maybe he's going through something similar.

Isaac wants to put that on a pedestal where it belongs.

Fuck.

"And that's when I'll come for you."

Isaac decides in a flash, voice low and rough, some bone deep want making itself known in his whisper.

"When you're ready."

Hopes to hell and back that he hasn't just said something stupid.

It's too much, in a way. The heat building in his stomach, rising higher and higher until it grips his chest. Makes every part of him feel alight.

Sam doesn't know how to handle it.

It turns out that's okay, because Isaac handles it for him.

Voice some soothing, aching thing. Sam can hear every dark want in every slowly spoken syllable. _That's when I'll come for you._ A vivid promise.

But only when Sam is ready.

The fire simmers to a soft heat. Sam releases a held breath, blinking open eyes he hadn't realized had even fallen closed. Has anyone ever effected him this deeply before? Right now, it doesn't even matter his inexperience with these feelings when turned towards a man—all that matters are Isaac's words and his gentle hand.

Swallowing, Sam allows himself a moment to come back to reality. Focuses on the wood panel walls around him, painted light cream. The plush carpet beneath his bare feet. The hardback chair he's sitting on.

Takes a deep breath.

"I believe I've learned the valuable lesson of _specificity_ today."

Said not unkindly, light, but with a rumbling, almost surprised desire creating a deep note in his chest.

He does laugh then, something genuine and light, some darker rumble in his chest puttering off as Sam gives a cute little quip.

Isaac is shaking.

Realizes this swiftly but isn't quite certain why. He inhales, slow and deep, trying to settle himself with a full body movement, making certain to keep quiet.

"If I see a loophole, I'm going to exploit it. Can't help myself."

Sounds a bit more put together this time, but Isaac makes no move to continue their game. Takes a long, slow draw from his wine cup, sighing as he breathes.

"Noted."

The lightest, amused laugh slips from his mouth. It's either do that, or immediately hang up and, ah. Take care of himself.

He doesn't want to cut their date short for such a silly reason as that.

So Sam leans back in his chair with a quiet sigh. Props his elbow up on the arm, then his cheek up on a closed fist.

"I think it's less about loopholes, and more that you just wanted to tease me."

"Can it not be equally about both?"

Sam's laughing though so whatever tension Isaac had been keeping pent up in his shoulders is released. Physically he slumps over, arm flung across his desk, forehead resting against it.

"Though I didn't take into account my uh ..."

Clears his throat with a light little giggle, half because he's amused with himself, and half because he's a literal fucking idiot.

"Own reaction, I guess."

"Yeah?"

Hopeful might be the right way to express that one questioning word that flies past Sam's lips. He hears movement, a giddy giggle behind rough shaken from Isaac's throat.

"And here I thought you were just a good actor."

Nice doesn't even begin to explain the pleased feeling curled up in Sam's chest right now. He unfurls his fingers to splay them up into the flyaway strands that have slipped from his loose bun.

He likes the idea that he can effect this man in the same way Isaac effects him.

A hum is all he responds with for a split second, but Sam's made him think.

Did he truly not understand that Isaac is just as effected by the thought of them together as he is?

It doesn't sound like he's joking.

"Don't get me wrong, I very much can be. But not with you."

And he means that in so many different ways.

"The thought of you wanting to do something like that with me? Ugh, you have no idea."

Glances down to the half chub he's still sporting.

There's no need for Isaac to elaborate, but he does, and Sam's kinda living for it. Glued to the phone, would more than happy with just listening to this man talk all day, but what he says is only icing on the cake.

Because Sam?

Has been crushing pretty hard for a while now. Slowly coming to terms with this attraction (and you bet your ass he plans to keep that dirty little secret buried for the rest of time—that Isaac's not just his first guy, but the _only_ guy Sam's actually felt attraction for).

"Soon, then."

He's still hot and bothered just thinking about it, but the feeling has settled to something slightly more manageable.

He at least has enough self control to wait until the late evening to take himself in hand.

"I don't put out on the first date, unfortunately."

A little tease to lighten the mood.

They've settled into such an easy back and forth. Teasing and de-escalating in turn, but it feels somehow softer than that. They're both here for this, and yet still manage to keep themselves from pressing too many buttons.

Not usually Isaac's M.O. but he can't help the uncontrollable urge to do this _right._

"Yeah? How many do you plan on squeezing out of me before then, hmm?"

He imagines a few more, certainly, but more to the fact that he likes this more than anything else.

"Really though, far as I see it, we've been doing this for months."

Eyes slip shut once again. Sam tilts his head back and just listens. Doesn't matter what Isaac says, even. The man just holds a certain quality to his voice that reaches deep into the back of Sam's brain and curls soothing fingers around the heaviest parts of him.

"As many as I can get."

Because this? Is nice. Just to have someone to talk to, be playful with. Not that he thinks any of that would change if certain ... things ... occurred between them. And really, Sam's reaching the end of his rope, because Isaac's right.

This might be their first date, but they've definitely been circling each other for months. Some unspoken dance that's kept him on his toes—both mentally stimulating, and more.

He's not sure how much longer he can last. Which is weird because he's never felt sexual desire as an urge before. Just an act. Something to get done. Nothing like this—something to get lost in.

"And we haven't been doing this for months. As far as I recall, this is the first time you've called and gotten me—"

Stops, suddenly, the words choking off before he lets slip the way his cock had gotten rather interested in Isaac's little stunt. That's a, uh, secret best kept _secret._

Sam cuts himself short with that one, but it doesn't take a genius to be able to read between those particular lines. The first time Isaac's gotten him a little hot and heavy, huh?

Well, to be fair it's not like he's actually put into effort into trying before. Sam is a bit of an enigma when it comes to all of this. He isn't interested in women, has no experience with men, hasn't been looking for anyone -- all signs point to asexuality. And even if that isn't the case, Sam is shy, not delicately so, but somehow it makes Isaac feel that way, just a bit.

Like Sam is someone he wants to be gentle with, in this.

Not something he's ever dealt with before, something he'd ever thought he'd be into.

But he is and he doesn't see that changing anytime soon.

"Feelin' a little wild, are ya?"

Teasing, but with that remaining heat attached to it. Sounds fond, like praise, when Isaac replays it back to himself.

"This could definitely be a thing, y'know. If you decide to keep me after our infinite dates."

Eyelids go from closed to open in turn—long intervals where Sam veritably basks in Isaac's cloying voice, only to blink his gaze back open in an attempt to ground himself and not sink too deeply in.

Yeah, he's definitely got a problem.

A rather visceral one if the jolt to his spine, that electric heat pooling between his legs, is anything to go by.

Sam swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

"You've been exemplary so far. We'll see how the next fifty or so dates go."

As always their back and forth is all too pleasing, quips bouncing between them like a ping pong ball. Sam keeps Isaac on his toes, a very attractive trait.

"Fifty, huh? Looks like you're settling in pretty fast."

Isaac refills his cup with wine, adjusts the phone in his hand to cup it between his face and shoulder as he does so.

"I thought we'd for sure be going for a slow burn."

Sam's voice is so good though, the thought of fifty more of these little dates isn't quite so daunting when it's that good. When Sam's whip smart and funny, strong and undeniably endearing. Isaac feels like he could do this every day for the rest of ...

Oh.

A scoffing little laugh is successfully startled out of him. Warms him deep to the bone, this man's smart mouth. It isn't like Sam doesn't have plenty of opportunity for conversation. He'd been stuck in a platoon of twelve men, and is currently going through a scout sniper program with a little more than thirty new marines.

But no one else is as good as Isaac. His teasing humor, how he gives and takes, listens and expounds. Every conversation between them has been nothing but pleasurable.

Sam's enamored. Been that way for a while now.

He shakes his head slowly, amused.

"What can I say? You ..."

Another soft exhale, words nothing but honest.

"You make me want to jump the gun."

He's still reeling from his own train of thought when Sam barrels into him with that.

Isaac knows enough about this man and his ways to understand certain things. When he's shutting off, when he's teasing, when he's serious and honest and straightforward.

This here is definitely that last one.

Exhaling, it's not quite a laugh and holds little amusement. Like he's breathing through diffusing a bomb, only the explosive in question is within his own chest.

"Sam."

Hand up, Isaac rubs at his face, calloused skin scraping across the stubble at his chin and cheeks.

"You're killing me right now, y'know that?"

He'll never get used to the sound of his name on lips he's only ever glimpsed in a handful of pictures. Tilted. Smirking. Pretty and pink. Once, Sam had gotten to see teeth, so sharp Isaac's flirty smile had been.

He wonders what shape they make around his name.

If Sam listens close enough, he can hear the bristly sound of skin sliding across short prickly hair.

The words wrap around him, squeeze. He's left feeling hot, wanting, but in a slow sort of way. Heat from proximity of phone to head, and thus a sweet tenor intimately close to his ear. Wanting, not just for his own budding desires to be explored, but to give this man whatever he wants—as long as Isaac is left happy, with the knowledge that (what had Isaac said all those months ago?) ... that Sam looks at him like he's something _more._

"I mean it though," he says, decibel dropping to that of a secret shared between friends.

Or lovers.

"I feel like ... you're careful with me. And I appreciate that, more than you know. But you can tell me what you need from me, too."

_What you need from me._

Isn't that a question and a half?

Isaac feels out of his element in this situation, in many when it comes to Sam, if he's honest.

There are situations he crafts, right? Ones that he understands exactly what to do, how they'll turn out if he says this or that, what will happen if he jumps or remains still.

With Sam?

There is no playbook to follow, no real knowing what could happen. It's exhilarating, that unknown, but moreso because it's Sam.

The only person who's ever made him feel like this. Seen, acknowledged, and all from hardly more than words on a screen.

So that begs the question. Does he need anything more than this, this right here and now?

"I've got what I need, Sam."

Startling in its truth, Isaac speaks the words nice and soft, intimate.

"Anything else is only icing on the cake."


	11. Scene XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter so I'll have another update for y'all before next Saturday. :) Thank you for comments and kudos!
> 
> —

I totally found the weirdest bug and hid it in Ray's bed. Will update on the proceedings.

Fifteen minutes later.

He screamed like a lil bitch and almost killed it, but I managed to save the bug. Meet Timothy.

A picture of a weird bug follows.

A day later.

I take it Timothy wasn't to your liking.

That's fine, I love him and that's all that matters.

Really, Sam, I'm sure you're busy becoming the best lil sniper in the land. You got this.

Three more days pass.

Checking in again.

Hope you're safe down there, big guy.

A week further, comes and goes.

Seriously, like we went from messaging every day to you becoming a straight up ghost.

And I seriously fuckin hope that's not literally.

At least tell me you're okay, Sam.

Two weeks pass with no contact.

He gives up. Heart heavy, exhausted, he doesn't even check anymore. Had done his research in the system, no Ortez, Samuel found in the obituaries nor the deserter list.

He's just gone.

Sam's gone.

  


A month. That's how long he's been gone. One month, three days, five hours. After the classroom portion of his training, Sam had been startled awake by a pair of Corporal officers barging into his room at 3am. They'd grabbed him, dragged him from his bed along with all the other trainees, and sent everyone off to an isolated camp for field study.

No phones. No personal belongings. Just training, day in and day out. It's only after this gruelling regimen that all the trainees are sent back to the main facility to gather their belongings from their rooms in the main house.

As soon as he's allowed, Sam walks briskly to his private quarters, slams the door shut, and runs to his phone sitting on the night stand. It's dead, battery drained. Has to plug it in and wait an excruciating minute for the stupid thing to turn on before he can contact the one person who's been at the forefront of his panicked thoughts for the last few weeks.

The messages roll in one after another. Starting sweet, silly. A picture of a bug. Isaac encouraging him. _You got this._ Worried for him. _Hope you're safe down there, big guy._ Scared for him. _At least tell me you're okay._

Fuck.

Isaac.

Oh my god, Isaac I am so sorry.

Are you there?

  


Over a month has passed and he's over it. Really, he completely is.

Aside from the fact that Isaac wakes up bleary and tired, hasn't really eaten well (lost a pound or two, so he's been told), checks his phone every evening before bed, and ends up falling asleep with said phone in his hand.

Totally over being completely ghosted by his best friend of the last ... however long it's been. Months. Wasted on something that was never meant to happen in the first place.

And of course, of fucking course, the one night he decides not to look at the stupid electronic brick at his desk is the one night it rings. Three times in quick succession.

He doesn't run over to it. Isaac walks. Slowly. And carefully. Absolutely doesn't trip over his own boots or accidentally fumble the phone from his fingers in his haste to pick it up.

None of that happens and he'll die on that hill.

I'm here.

  


_I'm here._

The words, simple on the screen as they are, don't bring him any relief. They bust his heart open, blood leaking into vital valves, until the whole thing is overfull and coagulating in his chest.

Sam's imagined what Isaac might think of him after this. Every day. He'd just up and disappeared. Ghosted him, from Isaac's perspective, and it's kept him up, plagued him, but he'd had to force down the bile in his throat every time that hot spike of _wrong_ bit into him in the field.

The only thing that matters is that Isaac had replied.

I'm sorry.

He'll say it a million times. More, if necessary.

Are you alright? I didn't mean to

They just took us, Isaac. No belongings, no phones. I had no idea.

  


Sam apologizes again and again, but it does nothing to alleviate the weight in his chest.

At least the guy's not dead, that's a fucking relief.

And there's an explanation, _they just took us,_ which is probably pretty valid. The truth, because Sam's never lied to him.

The weight is still there.

You passed, I take it?

  


He sits down on the edge of his bed. Collapses, more like. Slumps over, phone plugged into the wall and phone cord not very accommodating to his height.

I did.

Swallows heavily. This isn't right. But why would it be? He'd just disappeared. Him and Isaac were getting closer and closer each day. Sam had been falling ...

Isaac, I

I'm sorry.

Beating a dead horse at this point but Sam doesn't know what else to _do._

  


Stop apologizing.

They took you, right?

Nothing you could do about it.

Realizes only then that he's still standing at his desk. That empty beer bottle is still there, dried flower petals stuffed inside.

He feels like an idiot.

This is why he's never gotten close to anyone in the first place. They leave. Why had he thought that wouldn't happen with Sam? Might not have been his fault but it still happened, still _hurt,_ and now what's he supposed to do with that feeling?

He's glad Sam's alright, but other than that? What is there?

  


Yeah but that's not

Isaac's right. There was nothing he could do. Yet Sam still feels like there is no _excuse._ Caught up in a whirlwind, a raging storm, and scrambling to find its eye so maybe he can get a clearer picture of the damage.

He almost says I'm sorry again. It's a dumb urge.

I never stopped thinking about you.

  


Yeah well

I wasn't given that choice.

That was probably a shitty thing to say, but it's the truth. Isaac never stopped, but he was trying to, damn it.

That was his only option.

  


Like a blade through the chest. Sticking out the other end.

Sam reads the words over and over again. They're right. Sam knew what was going on, knew he could hold on. But Isaac knew nothing. Didn't get to even have a choice in the matter, because he didn't have a clue as to why Sam had disappeared.

It could have been a number of things. Abandonment. Death. Only Sam knew the real reason, and he can't expect Isaac to just drop it all and be okay with him coming back from nowhere.

But he also can't keep himself from trying. Because this man? Is ... he's more. Than anyone else.

I know. And I'm

_Sorry._

I'm going to make it up to you. If you just give me the chance.

  


It'll happen again.

It always does and he was so fucking stupid to let this go on in the first place.

It would be me, or you. 

People leave and die, especially where we're set up.

I can't

Go through it again. Get closer for it hurt _worse._

I'm not mad at you alright? It wasn't your fault, but this right here is mine.

But Sam's right here and safe and he feels just the same as ever. Isaac can breathe when he's around and that's ... too much.

  


The worst part is Isaac's right, and they both know it. Even Sam had agreed early on that getting attached to people was a bad idea in their line of work. He'd gone and done just that, falling hard for a man who's face he's never even seen. Yet just the thought of Isaac setting himself up at a safe distance feels like a wound pushed through his body, ready to scar him up on the inside.

Isaac says it isn't Sam's fault. _But this right here is mine._ What does he even mean by that? The connection? The feeling of closeness? That Isaac had allowed himself to slip, and that's on him and no one else?

Sam's heart picks up pace.

I don't accept that.

  


That's not

You can't just

Isaac throws his hands up in the air, annoyed exclamation escaping his lips loud enough to echo from the barren walls.

I don't accept _that._

  


No.

Firm. A rough frustration builds in his chest. Not at Isaac. At _himself._ For allowing this sort of doubt to enter the other man's mind.

It's not going to happen again, I won't let it.

I'm not going to leave and I'm not going to die.

I'm going to do whatever it takes to make it up to you because _you are mine_ and I'm not letting go until you tell me, to my face, to fuck off.

  


This is getting nowhere fast.

Sam denies him again, flat out, and as fucking annoying as it is it's also ...

No, bad. Sam's making promises he can't keep. _Won't happen again, I'm not going to die._ It's inevitable.

Though something does make it through, three little words that bring Isaac to his knees.

Sam.

Isaac had been the one to say that exact same not too long ago. It hurts. Fucking Christ.

  


What?

If spoken aloud, it would be a little more vehement than intended.

He takes a breath. Deep. Releases it slowly.

I'm not willing to let you go, Isaac. You're _more_ to me, okay?

  


Listen.

I don't know if I can be that for you.

Just

I'll be here if you need me, if it's an emergency, alright?

He has to do this. It's for both of their sakes. He's always had to be the one to step up before, and he'll be the one to do it now.

Even if it feels so much fucking worse than before.

  


Isaac, please.

No response. Sam waits for a solid fifteen minutes.

I can do better. I _will_ do better.

The next day, he tries again.

So we're shipping out in two weeks. I'll have my phone. I'm glueing it to my body.

He thinks maybe Isaac just needs space, but can't keep from making another attempt three days later.

I don't want it to be like this between us. Please.

A week.

I'm sorry.

He's just gone.

Isaac's gone.

  



	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DRAMA. But we needed it for this. :3 Ty for the lovely comments! Introducing (er, kinda fleshing out) a new OC in this chapter. He's been a character of mine since before I ever got into RvB so I hope you like him. 💜
> 
> —

Jericho McCarthy, Jay for short, is an easy man to get along with, though perhaps not the smartest company to keep. With dark hair and genetically impossible golden eyes, he's the sort of man who is perfectly aware of his own attractiveness, and this awareness has developed within him a charismatic attitude. He takes chances, and gets away with a lot. He's also a generally good person. Not the kind of guy who would use his body to cover a loose grenade without the pin (he likes himself too much to do that), but the sort who would go careening at it just to scoop the explosive up and throw it as far away as possible, laughing all the while, and asking after everyone's well-being after the damned thing explodes fifty meters off.

Jericho carries with him a rogueish grin and a suitcase full of ... _well._

After barging into the poor guy's room in direct compliance with Isaac's dare those two months ago, Sam had found himself with a new idiot connected at his hip.

Idiot number one, of course, being Striker.

During classes and after, in the field, Sam had found himself subject to the relentless flirting of a man who did it so thoroughly, and so bluntly, even _he_ had picked up on it.

Which is no easy feat.

It had been exactly two weeks into the scout sniper program that Sam found out what, exactly, was in that mysterious suitcase.

After a fresh bout of relentless flirtation, Sam had finally ground out _I have someone,_ and Jericho had removed the arm slung casually around Sam's waist, taken several steps back, then burst out laughing.

"Slow down there, handsome," Jericho had said, grinning deviously. "You're not my type. Wanna know a secret?"

The contents of the suitcase, latches flicked open and lid pulled up, seemed to be Jericho's pride and joy.

Dildos. A whole collection of them. Of varying shapes and sizes, and not a single one seemed to resemble anything anatomically correct.

For a human, at least.

"I'm a xenophile," Jay had said with a shrug. "Humans just don't do it for me."

So yes. Jericho? An odd one.

But it is through Jericho that Sam finds a way to Isaac.

It's been weeks since Isaac has messaged Sam, and he's incapable of letting this man slip through his fingers due to a misunderstanding, or worse: fear. Isaac's concerns are soundly based. They both aren't the type who could ever benefit from a connection like the one they'd been fostering between each other. It would be better in the long run to break things off, as Isaac had done.

But Sam, photographic memory and exemplary marks in all of his classes, is kind of an idiot for this man.

It's too late for him to just drop it.

Isaac is unlike anyone else he's ever met. Intelligent and kind. Coy, sharp. He's driven, cool-headed, someone Sam looks up to. Someone who makes him feel seen, and calm, and like he actually matters.

Which is why, when Jericho starts in on a little rant talking about his admiration for a man named Gunnery Sergeant Mclane, how he plans on working for that man one day, and how his foot-in is through a little platoon he'd gotten accepted into under the command of one _Sergeant Isaac Gates,_ Sam grabs a fistful of Jay's shirt and drags him into a wall, demanding to know all the details.

The details are simple.

Sergeant Gates' platoon has no more openings. But Corporal Damien Ray does.

Ray.

One week until they ship out again, Sam applies, and a few days later is accepted into Ray's somewhat infamous platoon: _The Nice Knights._

He hates the name.

After a flurry of information and equipment is thrown at them, Lance Corporals Samuel Ortez and Louis Striker are both shipped off to Realm Four Echelon to join Ray's ranks as scout sniper elites.

The entire trip has Sam so nervous he worries he might double over and vomit at any moment. Isaac will not be happy to see him, he's fairly certain of that. He'll also be witness to Sam's face for the first time—his scar, some big X lashed across his brow and nose like the mark of shame it is. It's a very real possibility that Isaac will simply find him unattractive, which makes Sam's ridiculous attempts to mend this gap between them even more frightening.

It's likely Isaac will just think he's ugly and end it at that.

But Sam has to try.

Realm Four Echelon is gigantic in scope, at least five times larger than Sam's last station. A large orbiting monolith that holds ten times as many platoons than Fox Five Terminal ever did. He's already been given a rundown of amenities—a park, a pool, modern barracks, plenty of space for training or recreation—but honestly? Hadn't been paying much attention.

They dock.

He's on his feet before anyone else. Dressed in military fatigues, a dark brown hand woven bracelet circled around his left wrist. The bay doors open and a handful of new recruits, along with him and the other transfers, file out. They're walked through the loading bay into a short series of pristine white hallways that open up to a larger room. They stand at attention with their backs to a wall. And wait.

And wait.

Footsteps echo down the hall to his right. Silence fills with the sound of two chatting voices, the details of the conversation hard to make out, but the timbre and tones strike him through like a lightning bolt.

Isaac.

With a deep breath, Sam flicks his eyes to the side, still facing forward, and watches as two men come into view. One of them is his new CO. Corporal Damien Ray. He doesn't look to this man.

Intense grey eyes lock on a face he's never seen, connected to a man he knows very well. Isaac has high cheekbones and a sharp profile. Thin chin, defined jawline. His brown eyes look lit up from within while he speaks—like the darkest rings of a tree cut through. His hair is cut short on the sides, longer and pushed back at the top. He's tall, lithe. Has expressive eyebrows, and a familiar tilting mouth.

He's handsome.

_Incredibly_ so.

Sam's scar feels like it might burn him.

He swallows heavily, fiddles with the bracelet around his wrist and wonders, with a deep ache, if Isaac still has the matching one he'd made.

Can't take his gaze away. Stormy grey peers deeply at Isaac with a precise focus, like he can pull apart flesh and bone to have a better look at everything beneath.

Photographic memory. He'll never forget this moment.

He only hopes he doesn't regret it.

Days have come and gone much the same as they did before Sam had reconnected with him.

Long and slow and ultimately, _stupidly_ boring. Food didn't taste as good anymore, nothing entertained him, not even the pull of alcohol could persuade Isaac into a better mood.

So when the time comes for new recruits, to say that Isaac isn't exactly in tip top shape? An understatement.

Ray has been trying to hype him up, sure, but his head isn't in the game. Hasn't been, if he's honest with himself, which is a rarity nowadays. Really though, he just let himself get too caught up, but it's over now. He's seen to that right and proper. Isaac's going to move on with his life.

Starting today.

It's with that thought planted firmly in his mind that Isaac steps into the debriefing room, along with Ray, to suss out their new recruits. He'd been given a dossier on his, but due to his recent lack of give a shit, Isaac hasn't actually gone over it yet. Opens it up as he comes to a full stop in the room, voice booming out.

"Alright gentlemen, welcome to Realm Four Echelon, your new home. This is Corporal Ray and I am Sergeant Gates, we will be your new NCO's for the time being."

He hasn't looked up from the folder in his hands, flips through some unnecessary pages before settling upon the one he'd been looking for.

A name pops out at him like a neon sign.

"Jericho McCarthy."

_Jericho._ A man with the same name had been stationed with Sam in Virginia.

It couldn't be the same man, right?

Isaac doesn't look up.

Why does it hurt so much just to hear Isaac speak? The man's voice is commanding, an almost-raspy tenor ringing clearly through the short open hall everyone has been corralled into.

Sam remains frozen to the spot, heart beating out of control while he waits for Isaac to tilt his chin up, take his eyes off the manilla folder in hand, and _see him_ for the first time.

What will he say? How will he react? Will he even recognize it's Sam to begin with? The only thing Isaac has seen of him has been his body. Maybe putting a face to it would get wires crossed, leave Isaac still unaware.

Sam kind of hopes that is exactly what happens.

Now that he's here, he's not _ready._

He swallows heavily as Jericho's name is called.

"Present," the dark haired man says, flicking a curious gaze at Sam (he'd picked up on the intense glare Sam was giving Sergeant Gates) before stepping forward out of line. Jericho stands at attention, hand held high, and gives a formal salute.

Actual panic sets in for Sam after that. The lights seem brighter. Noise dips and extends until every syllable spoken sounds like it's coming from beneath the placid water of a dirty lake.

"Louis Striker."

Corporal Damien Ray speaks. Striker steps out of line with a salute.

"I'm here," Striker affirms, tossing a pleased grin over his shoulder at Sam (the guy had been excited to get accepted into this particular platoon) before straightening up and turning back to his superior.

"And Samuel Ortez?"

Sam takes a deep breath. Releases it slowly beneath flared nostrils. Steps forward.

"Present, sir."

He doesn't look to Ray, his new CO, but instead continues boring every ounce of his attention into Isaac. Who still hasn't even looked his way.

_"Present."_

The voice is different than anticipated, lighter maybe, confident.

Isaac looks up to the man as he steps forward, but doesn't let his attention stray to any of the other soldiers. McCarthy glances back behind himself, expression questioning, or curious. It takes everything within him to keep from following that gaze.

Another name is called, Ray to his left speaks in that undeniably pleasant tone of his, making Isaac seem like a real hardass in comparison. He doesn't care. Can't do anything but stare at his new recruit, eyes hard and a little wild as Isaac loses himself just a little bit.

_"Louis Striker."_

This can absolutely not be happening. Not now, not here, and not to him.

Another man steps forward and it's only then that Isaac averts his gaze. Finds himself looking into Ray's familiar face. He's grinning in the same direction that McCarthy had thrown a look toward.

Fuck.

_"Samuel Ortez?"_

Isaac officially panics. Inhales once, quick and sharp. Barely hears the response Ray gets from **Sam** before he's stepping forward.

"McCarthy, you're with me. Now."

Puts every ounce of firm command into his tone before turning on his heel. Can feel eyes on his back, but doesn't dare look over his shoulder before striding quickly from the room.

Staring so hard Sam's liable to bore holes into Isaac's skin, and yet the man _still doesn't look._ Seems stuck on Jericho, some harsh and burning light behind his eyes that makes Jay's customary grin falter. When Isaac's attention does shift to another target, it still handily avoids Sam altogether, landing directly on Corporal Ray's bright and happy smile.

Sam sees the entire exchange. Or, well, the lack of one. Ray seems oblivious to the pointed ire thrown his way. Just gives Sam a welcoming nod, which he returns, vacantly.

_Look at me._

The tension in the room is so thick it could ignite. Or maybe that's just Sam, sensing a deadly frustration, disbelief, anger, brewing beneath Isaac's skin.

_Look at me, get it over with._

It never happens.

Isaac barks out a command to Jericho and is already swiftly striding away.

Had never once glanced up.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  


Isaac.

I know you know I'm here.

  


The question is _why?_

And also how?

  


I applied to Corporal Ray's platoon and was accepted.

You ... never looked at me.

  


And you ignored my first question.

  


Isaac's responding to him. It's more than he's gotten in weeks.

I already told you.

I don't accept it.

Ending it. The fear that Sam will leave again, or die. He doesn't accept any of it.

  


You are the most stubborn, bull headed son of a bitch I've ever met.

And you didn't say I could.

  


Didn't say he—

_Oh._

Isaac didn't look at him because Sam's always hidden his face before, never sent a picture, never gave permission.

His heart hurts for this man.

And you are the kindest, wildest man I've ever known.

You can look.

  


You've made this all too fuckin complicated, you know that?

Coming here like that just solves everything.

I'm infuriated.

But God does he feel _ignited._ Had almost come out of his skin in the briefing room, scared McCarthy half to death, literally could've strangled Ray.

It's been a helluva day.

  


It doesn't solve everything. I know it doesn't.

But I'm here now. And I'm going to figure out how to make it up to you.

  


There's nothing to make up.

It wasn't your fault.

This is just how it should've been from the start, okay? I've moved on.

He hasn't.

  


No.

His heart is racing. He's never done this before. Pursued so deeply.

He's never had anyone he wanted to pursue.

You're going to have to say that to my face. Look me in the eye and tell me you're done.

_Look and see what I look like, if you still want someone who looks like me._

  


I don't wanna.

He's tired, fresh wounds reopened and spilling red. Collapses on his bed, face buried in his pillow.

  


Then I'm not going to stop.

Isaac, I

Swallows heavily. Good thing Striker is out with Jay, making the rounds, introducing themselves. Sam doesn't need anyone to witness the weight and worry etched into his brow, scar warped by it.

I'm sorry I complicated things by coming here. But I had to.

  


Fine. _Fine._ Sam's here now, and that changes things, but not in the way he'd hoped. Isaac steels himself.

You are my subordinate here, do you understand?

You come to my ship, join my sister platoon, and ...

You will address me as sir here, and only that.

He can do this. He'd made up his mind before and just because Sam's _here_ doesn't change anything.

  


The floor drops out beneath him. Sam reads each message carefully, that weight on his shoulders growing heavier until he's slumped over, sitting on the side of his bed.

Isaac, please.

He feels frail in the face of this, where before he'd hoped to be so strong.

  


I'm not here to beat you down, soldier.

This feels wrong.

We can ... talk, alright? A bit. Just don't give me that.

  


_Soldier._ Christ. Why does that hurt more than anything else, than being ignored? But there's hope, a bit, and Sam has to cling to that.

He has to believe he can fix this. Somehow.

Alright ... sir.

_I'm so sorry._

_Just give me a chance._

_You have to understand that I—_

I've missed you.

  


Sam needs to stop, this has to stop.

It's torture. He's been trained to withstand so much, physical beatings, psychological warfare. This is the worst he's ever experienced.

I'm gonna need you to not with that right now, Ortez.

Separating himself is the only way he's going to get through this.

Just ... Gimme some space, alright?

That is what I need from you right now.

  


He crossed light years of _space_ just to see this man, only for that to be the exact thing Isaac needs.

It's enough to make a choked, desperate laugh spill from Sam's throat. Feels like he’s grasping at water, hoping to take hold.

He won't give up.

For how long?

  


_I don't know._

I don't know.

He should give up while he's ahead. He's never going to get over this.

Sam had been different, distinct, singular. The one thing Isaac had allowed himself to become attached to, to count on.

Now what's going to happen?

  


Exhausted, Sam falls into his bed (larger, softer than the ones at his previous station) and closes his eyes. Runs a hand through his hair over and over again until he's dislodged a mess of strands from their ponytail.

He's hurt. This might be the worst hurt he's ever felt, and that's _really saying something._

But there's a saying about wounded animals backed into a corner. His walls are closing in tighter and tighter.

And he's willing to fight for this.

For Isaac.

I'll be here for you when you do.

  



	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DRAMA, LOVE Y'ALL.

It's been days since the arrival of new troops to the Echelon, though it certainly doesn't feel that way. Not to Isaac.

He's been drifting around in a haze, nose to the grindstone as much as humanly possible. Nose to the ground even moreso, and that would be a literal if he could reach that far, head down low.

He's kept to himself.

No going to the gym on off scheduled hours, no jump planetside for the weekend. Isaac works and goes to his room. The end.

Except for today, because it's meatloaf Monday and there's one thing he can't resist right now. His stomach.

So, strategically, Isaac heads to the mess early, hoping to cut off the rush of midday traffic in the area and that's totally it. He's not avoiding any one thing or _person_ in particular. Nope. Not him.

Gets in line, eyes forward. It'll be an in and out job, quick as possible.

"So I heard they've got a beast. Like, literal, honest-to-god _I will feed you to the beast_ kinda beast. Keepin it in the back of the holding cells down sub-level, past zero. I gotta go see it."

Jericho, as usual, is ranting at Sam despite Sam's flat, uninterested expression. The man had dragged him to the mess hall for an early lunch, singing the praises of something called meatloaf Monday and how they had to hit up the cafeteria early before the cooks ran out.

Sam finds it difficult to pay attention to the words. They careen past his ears like so much white noise. But that's hardly Jericho's fault.

He's had trouble focusing on _anything_ these past few days. Had done perhaps the first wildly impulsive thing of his life and signed the next few years of it away to a stranger's platoon on the other side of a spiraling galaxy just for the chance to _prove himself_ to a man who wants nothing to do with him.

Still not gay, by the way. Yep. Totally.

He hasn't even seen Isaac the last few days, ever since he, McCarthy, and Striker arrived here.

Jay nudges his shoulder to bring him back to the present as they slide into line, and Sam sighs.

"You don't have the clearance," he says, hand coming up to twist his braided brown leather bracelet—it's become habit.

So the thing is, right, even with his eyes super glued to the world in front of him, that doesn't keep Isaac from _hearing_ things he most certainly does not want to hear.

And that thing is Lance Corporal McCarthy.

His voice can cut through a crowd, not loud necessarily, but always pointed and excited. He's become a well liked staple to the platoon and the rest of the station.

Isaac hates him.

Mostly for the fact that he's attractive and charismatic and ... apparently with Sam right this instance.

They're a few people back in the line behind him but it's still a supreme act of control for Isaac not to whip around and stare. He hasn't seen Sam, after all. Not one since he's been on the station.

The line in front of him moves, Isaac along with it. Gets his food quickly before moving to an empty table.

Waits, all the while staring at the back of Sam's unfairly attractive head.

"Clearance _shmearance,_ " Jericho continues, as they step up in line and grab a couple of pale blue food trays.

In a way, Sam's thankful for the mostly one-sided conversation. If McCarthy doesn't stop talking, there just simply isn't enough room left over in Sam's head to start spiraling him into a state of helplessness.

When he'd applied to Corporal Ray's platoon, he hadn't realized just how big the Echelon actually was. Large enough, apparently, for Isaac to have disappeared altogether. No messages, not even a glimpse for days. It's ... disheartening.

He moves through the line in the same way he's moved through every neat line since he got here: on autopilot. Synthetic meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes are slapped onto his plate, and it actually looks pretty good. He'd find more time to appreciate the food if he didn't feel a harsh, persistent tingle at the back of his neck informing him that he's being _watched._

Not the first time he's felt it since he got here. Every new place tends to turn their attention his way, at least for a little while. The scar. So many questions he's swept away with a dark glare. The looks won't meter off for another few weeks, that's just how it's always been.

But in the meantime, fingers clench around his lunch tray and Sam turns—Jericho still mouthing off about something or other in the background—to sweep squinted gray eyes around the cafeteria, expression morphed into a flat glare, messy flyaway strands of hair framing his face where they've fallen from a loose bun. The X over his brow shifts when he scrunches up his nose, trying to find a culprit.

His head's not in the game, though. Heart too heavy to pour all his focus into pinpointing whoever's staring at him.

Expression smoothing out, Sam turns back to the line with a worn sigh.

Meatloaf sits upon his tray untouched as Isaac continues to glare straight ahead.

He's angry. Actually scratch that, he's fucking pissed off and for a multitude of reasons.

Sam's _there,_ on his ship, in his mess hall. It's screwing with his head something serious, yeah, but what's worse? Fucking _Jericho._

He's standing too close.

And really, Isaac's never been one for jealousy. He's a take em and leave em type himself, right? Was. Anyway. For anyone but Sam Ortez. Which shouldn't matter because Isaac is the one that's put this barrier up between them, one Sam's been trying to jump over ever since the night that contact was reestablished between them.

It's wrong for Isaac to be as actually enraged as he is in this moment, but in all reality he's never been the most emotionally stable guy on the block.

So he waits and he stews and he grits his teeth (even as Sam turns to look through the crowded room, he stares) until the unwitting twosome completely make their way through the line.

That's when he sees, really sees, Sam's face.

He's struck by it, the wide, strong set of his jaw, high cheekbones, long black hair tied up in some messy bun atop his head. Bright grey eyes that stand out stark against the otherwise dark line of him.

And the scar.

Isaac stands before he realizes what he's even doing. Doesn't stop his feet from propelling him forward until he's at the table Sam and Jericho have set themselves at.

Eyes hard, focused he stares at Sam, ignoring McCarthy completely.

"Lance Corporal Ortez, a word."

Jerks his head toward the double doors of the mess entrance.

Settling down at an empty table, Sam is just about to dig into his food when clomping feet approach, giving him pause. He doesn't look up until a painfully familiar voice addresses him, and even then outright shock keeps his gaze locked firmly to that pale blue tray.

He could shake out of his skin, the electricity burns through him so violently. Because for one, Isaac is actually speaking to him. And for another, he's _looking at him._

Sam can feel it. He sees. There is no hiding here, and yes, Sam had told Isaac in their conversation from days ago that he could look, but giving permission for such a thing, and experiencing that thing happening, are so wildly different.

Sam sets his fork down slowly.

Keeps his eyes downcast when he stands.

He can't bring himself to look at the disgust in Isaac's gaze. Glances up just enough to see a chin jerk towards the front of the mess hall, and immediately flicks his attention back down to Isaac's black boots.

"Yes, sir."

His voice comes out rough, surprised.

He's heralded away toward a pair of swinging double doors, with Jericho's parting words: _Ooo somebody's in trouble._

The guy has no idea.

Sam is startled, because of course he is. Isaac feels much the same and he's the one that pushed this in the first place. Hadn't realized he'd be face to face with this man today, and certainly not before his lunch.

There's no turning back now.

He has something to say.

With no buck back to speak of from Sam, Isaac moves with swiftly through the small crowd and out of the double doors. Doesn't slow down for a moment, certain Sam is behind him, until they reach a deserted hallway.

Isaac doesn't stop, but looks around to make certain no one is coming around the corner. It's then that he lashes out.

A hand lands on Sam's chest as he pushes the larger man backward through an automatic door. Isaac follows behind, the door closing with a pneumatic hiss behind them.

It's an old debriefing room that no one really uses anymore, so it's private, away from any eyes that could spot them together.

For a moment, Isaac doesn't do anything but look at Sam, eyes no longer harsh, but focused still. Picking the other man apart, memorizing every feature.

Isaac moves quickly, and yet Sam's feet feel heavy as he falls behind. Everything he's wanted to say since he got here— _I'm sorry, are you doing well, please just let me in, I know I can do better for you_ —falls to the wayside the moment he's actually confronted with the other man.

Stern. Cold. That had been the way those lips tilted. Not anything like the grinning smirk he'd glimpsed in pictures. Isaac is his superior, his authority on this ship, and Sam has never been so starkly reminded of that until now, while the man walks them through a series of hallways, the sound of the crowd metering out until Isaac stops and they're left in silence.

Sam still doesn't look up.

At least, not until there's a hand on his chest. Sam flicks his attention upward, startled, and Isaac pushes with no insignificant force until a door behind Sam slides open, hisses shut, and Sam stumbles back, that brief moment of contact between them—the first time he's ever been touched by this man—leaving him burned on the inside. Like the shape of Isaac's hand is now branded on his chest.

They're standing in a dark room, the difference in air pressure and acoustics causing a thin silence to ring through Sam's ears. He's panting. Chest rises and falls while he sucks in oxygen like he's just finished an excruciating run. Grey eyes wide.

"I—"

Sam swallows thickly. Isaac's _staring at him._ Picking him apart, no doubt, and finding him wanting.

He'd expected as much, but he finds he still hadn't been prepared.

Sam reaches a hand up, splaying dark fingers over one half of his face, one half of his scar, knowing it won't cover it up, that he can't make Isaac unsee, but providing a bit of cover is the only thing he can think to do.

"Sir?"

Reaction is immediate.

Sam stumbles into the barren room, looks startled for all of a moment, eyes wide, chest heaving with labored breath before the man is crumbling in upon himself. Isaac watches the man's throat bob with a choking swallow before Sam's in motion, hand coming up to cover his face.

He's making Sam uncomfortable with his gaze, Isaac understands this but can't bring himself to look away. Can't lessen the intensity of his look as he memorizes every square inch of his subordinate's face, imagines how the raised skin of that scar would feel under his fingers, his lips.

If they were still ...

Isaac clears his throat.

"I don't take very well to being lied to, Ortez."

Though his voice starts out stern as it had been in the mess hall, it softens almost immediately. He can't help himself.

"You couldn't be any further from _'unattractive'_ if you were covered in gold."

Sam had beat that like a dead horse, that he was ugly, hideous. Refused to show his face until he was so desperate for Isaac's approval he traveled across lightyears of space and time to get to him.

It's overwhelming. Something Isaac's still working on processing, how he could mean so much to someone that they would fight for his affections. Like he is worth such a thing. Like he won't end up dead, or worse yet, _disappointing._

He keeps his distance, even though all he really wants to do is reach up to grip Sam's wrist, pull it away from his face so Isaac can let himself look. It'll be the only time he allows it of himself.

"You could do better. Than McCarthy."

Doesn't quite mean for that to escape him, but it does so Isaac doesn't bother to try and take it back. It's the truth, after all.

Words pierce through the quiet after too long of a wait. Sharp, definitive. Sam's over here trying to survive this moment, while Isaac seems perfectly content to burn a hole through him with a focused gaze so intense, Sam's only ever seen anything like it reflected in his own mirror.

For too long, synapses in Sam's brain stutter to a halt when Isaac accuses him of _lying._ About what, he's unsure. Maybe the fact that Sam's not actually gay and this whole thing with Isaac is singular and unique for him. But how would Isaac know about that?

He's spared, surprisingly enough, by the man himself. Tone dipping to something much softer, more reminiscent of the times they've called each other and spoken on the phone. Gentle.

If admonishing.

Sam stares at him dumbly for all of one minute, hand still firmly covering half his face, fingertips extended into his hairline, tied ends of the bracelet dangling from his wrist.

Shaken by these words.

Isaac doesn't find him unattractive.

He swallows again. Perplexed. Floored.

"I'm not ... with ... him."

Hopeful.

Slow on the uptake as ever, Sam stares back at him for a long, silent moment. It extends between them, a bubble of something that feels familiar. Makes Isaac's chest ache.

Almost as much as the image before him. Sam's still covering half of his face with one big hand, but upon the wrist of that hand?

A bracelet. Dark brow, braided, ends dangling down to draw attention.

The twin of which still sits in Isaac's desk drawer, untouched, but not forgotten.

His chest aches suddenly, a bright heat threatening to swallow him whole. It doesn't feel as pleasant as it once did. Feels like a wildfire, all consuming, burning him up from the inside out. It hurts, everything hurts, even the words given back to him. What he wanted to hear, but _not_ at the same time.

Good, he wants to say. Why not, another phrase that pops into his mind.

Isaac doesn't say either.

"You're better than what you think."

He turns away, unable to keep looking into those eyes. Doesn't wait for another response before he's walking out of the room.

  


* * *

  


He gives with no thought of reciprocity or recognition.

Sam had not received a gleaming endorsement or a sign that things would, or even could, be okay between them, but ever since Isaac pushed him into that abandoned debriefing room, stared him in the eye, and told him _he couldn't be anything further from unattractive,_ Sam's had an annoying little bug skittering around his heart.

Hope.

No one has ever looked upon his face before and not asked questions. How did he get it. When did it happen. But Isaac had gone above and beyond basic respect. Had seen him as a person, a man.

Had looked deep and not found Sam wanting.

A week passes and Isaac still doesn't speak to him or recognize him in any way. Sam waits for it. Waits for the man to pull him aside again. Makes it a point to be present, to encourage such a thing. His broad shadow passing over Isaac's shoulders while the Sergeant stands in line for food. Trailing behind not-so-subtly when he spots Isaac walking in the halls. Making sure his exercise schedule meets Isaac's own, so that he sees the man leaving the gym just as Sam enters.

He is not pulled aside. Isaac does not approach him.

So Sam changes tactics.

It starts with recon. He scours the Echelon's records to find the room number of every CO aboard the ship. Finds Isaac's room. Third floor of the barracks. West end. Officer's quarters. Room 303.

The first gift he leaves at the foot of Isaac's door is a simple one. A single red tulip he'd nicked from the second floor garden.

He receives no message from Isaac, and that is fine. Sam will continue to try.

The gifts begin with quiet declarations of Sam's devotion (because that is what he feels toward this man— _devoted_ ). They quickly devolve to just about anything Sam can think to give him, from romantic to practical. Different kinds of flowers, a six pack of ginger beer, a letter with the message _You are more to me_ written as a cryptogram he's certain Isaac's clever mind can solve, a flash drive with a selection of songs on it he believes the other man might like. A pack of socks. A bottle of rum.

A week passes. Two.

Sam still gives. With no thought of reciprocity or recognition, but with hope crawling like a black beetle through his heart.

Out of hand does not even _begin_ to cover this situation.

It's been weeks since Isaac had pulled Sam aside, and it turns out? Very bad decision.

It was compulsory, he hadn't thought a thing about it other than to get that heavy thought out of his head, off his shoulders. Sam thought he was ugly, the pure and simple fact was, he's wrong. Isaac needed him to know that above anything and everything. He wasn't unworthy of any affection he could want from another.

What he wasn't talking about was _his_ affection.

Which is exactly how Sam took it, apparently.

Because the guy suddenly becomes omnipresent. He's everywhere all at once, no matter where Isaac goes, Sam seems to already be there, or be leaving, or be close enough to stand just out of reach. A silent sentinel just over Isaac's shoulder. 

If it was anyone else it would be actually hella fucking creepy.

But it's Sam and he's just a fucking _weirdo._ Isaac knows what he's doing. Making himself available, right there, just in case Isaac breaks.

He doesn't.

But is beginning to think he might, now.

Two weeks. Two long, arduous weeks filled with gift after gift placed at his door. Almost every day, and in a vast variety of just _things._ Flowers, notes, booze, anything and everything Sam can think of.

It's drawn attention. A lot of attention.

Ray's on his ass, Mclane, even fucking Jericho had the nerve to say something about it. Now Isaac? Is fed up.

Even if he does keep every single item, stows it away like he can keep it secret even from himself.

You have to stop.

Sends off the message before he can even think. Sam has that effect on him, apparently.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  


A message buzzes on his phone. Sam's chest burns when he sees the sender. It's so out of the blue he actually pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. Looks from his phone, to the bite of chicken salad he'd been about to ingest, then sets his fork down. Glances around the mess hall with the odd feeling that Isaac has just told him to stop eating.

Which really just makes no sense.

Stop what?

  


Stop _what?_ Incredible.

You know what.

The things. That you keep giving me.

It has to stop.

  


Oh. That makes more sense. Sam picks his fork back up and continues to eat, slowly, cheek propped up on a closed fist while he stares at his phone and tries not to fuck everything up all over again with how eager he feels to speak to this man.

Deep breaths, Ortez.

Why?

  


What do you mean why?

The reasons are limitless, okay?

He's slumped back onto his bed now, tired of everything going on around him. Of existing like this.

Not pouting though. Definitely not that.

  


Are they now?

Maybe I just like giving you things.

  


Well I'm telling you to find another damn hobby.

You know how much shit everyone is giving me?

  


_Hobby?_ It's not a hobby.

And no? Surely you can't get in trouble for receiving anonymous gifts.

  


It's not that I'm in trouble, it's that everyone has noticed and they won't shut the hell up about it.

And if it's not a hobby, what would you call it, huh?

  


I didn't take you for the sort of person who cared what others think.

It's a risk. But Sam misses Isaac immensely. Misses the teasing, the playful back and forth, and though Isaac has come to him with reproach, Sam hopes he can lighten the air.

But that question does make him pause.

Redemption.

Hope.

Christmas in July? Except, you know, it's every month and every day instead.

  


He's being cute on goddamn purpose, but it's been so long and Isaac misses _his friend._

So he laughs in the privacy of his own room, something soft and helpless.

I don't care what people think, I'm just tired of being ribbed to shit about it.

What do you want from me, Sam? Like really.

  


He stops eating. Places his utensils on his tray. Sits up straight.

This is his chance.

Sam takes a deep breath.

I want you to know that I'm not going to leave you. That I'm not going anywhere, okay?

I mean. You know what the last F in BFF stands for, right?

That's what Isaac had called them, all those months ago. They'd watched the first two Harry Potter movies together from light years away, and Isaac had called it a BFF night.

Also, feel free to give me their numbers and I will call and tell them to cut you some slack.

  


A stupid acronym is thrown back in his face and Isaac hates it. Hates that Sam knows what to say to poke holes through his lungs, sit him on the edge of his seat.

Alright, fine. You're not going anywhere. I get it.

And I'm not giving you any numbers. Besides, I'm sure you already have McCarthy's.

Happy now?

  


He is happy, actually. That Isaac accepts his words and is actually speaking to him after half a month of static. Jericho is mentioned again, though, and Sam tilts his head at that.

I do have his number.

Has he been ribbing you? I haven't told anyone.

  


Not about you _specifically._

He just knows someone on my level, comes up here all the time and he sees the gifts and has a big stupid mouth.

I hate him.

  


He's not that bad.

You get used to that mouth of his.

  


And here I thought you said you weren't together.

Breathe, Isaac. He's just an idiot.

  


We're not.

Brows scrunches together. Wait.

_Oh._ I didn't mean it like—

Fuck wait is Isaac jealous? Sam blinks down at his phone.

  


I'm sure.

  


He could see where it could be easily misconstrued. Jericho is a touchy guy. Flirtatious. He hangs off Sam when they're together more often than not. It's just something Sam had grown accustomed to during their field training in Virginia.

He hardly notices it anymore.

But that Isaac cares? Interesting development.

So.

Does the thought of me and him together make you unhappy, then?

  


Nope.

Doesn't make me anything.

  


I'm sure.

He smiles. For the first time in a long time. It's not funny or anything like that. But Isaac cares and that's something, right?

You should ask to see his suitcase, sometime.

  


That euphemism really falls flat, y'know.

I seriously don't want to hear about whatever it is you two get up to together, alright?

I'm glad you're not alone. If you just want me to stop ignoring you or whatever, then I will.

Just stop with the gifts.

  


No, I mean

Literally. Ask about his suitcase, that he keeps in his room.

I know he comes across a certain way but I'm not interested in him and he's not interested in me.

If you don't ask him about it, I'm gonna keep sending gifts.

  


What?

I don't negotiate with _terrorists_ okay.

  


He can't help but laugh, soft as it is.

I already told you, I just like giving you things.

It's going to be difficult to stop. I'll need some incentive.

  


You are

The most infuriating person.

I'm not talking to your butt buddy, I already said I won't ignore you, why must you test me?

  


He's _not._

I don't like him. I've never liked anyone else the way I like you.

  


That heavy feeling is back. Isaac sighs, flinging a forearm over his eyes.

Well.

Quit it.

  


_Quit it_ like I can just

I _can't,_ Isaac.

  


You haven't even _tried._

He sends after deleting the _me either_ he typed at first. Fuck.

  


I can't do that either.

I don't want to.

So I won't.

Definitely not pouting, nope.

  


I can't give you what you need, Sam.

I'm not

Deserving? Worth it?

Listen. 

I'm here, alright? If you message, I'll respond. If you want to ... I dunno, be friends.

That's all I have.

  


Friends. It's not what they had been, but they hadn't really been much more than that to begin with. Not yet.

Sam slumps in his chair. If he quiets his mind and digs deep, deep inside himself, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that his feelings for Isaac extend beyond friendship. But at the same time, these desires buried deep in his chest don't outweigh how much he appreciates Isaac as a friend. They coincide. Walk in step. Two halves of the same whole.

If friendship is all Isaac can give, then Sam will take it gladly. Even if he has to press down that other half.

That's all I need.

_You. Just you._

  



	14. Scene XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Was debating on combining this scene with another, but I decided to keep them separate since I like the pacing better. Shorter chapter, but I'm already formatting the next one so it'll be on time.
> 
> LOVE YA'LL. Stay safe. <3
> 
> —

So.

You never told me you guys had a pool.

This station is huge.

It's been a few days since their last conversation. Sam had needed the space himself, for once, to strip away any lingering fantasies of them together as something more.

Isaac is willing to be his friend. Said they could talk, even. He'd stopped with the gifts. This is enough. It will have to be enough.

  


It's been days since he and Sam had had any contact. The gifts had ceased showing up at his door, but Sam hadn't bothered to message either.

Loneliness sets in quick. Isaac hadn't realized how ... well, how much Sam affected him, even still.

He jumps at the chance to answer his phone now, as it vibrates in his pocket. He's taken to keeping it close once again.

I didn't realize you were on a smaller station before. I'd never been to one.

  


Relief floods him when he gets a response. Not that he'd doubted Isaac's word, just.

Okay maybe he had, but less because he thought Isaac was lying, and more because he worried Isaac might change his mind.

Maybe that's why they set us up next to a tropical planet?

I think the fanciest amenity we had was one of those old upright popcorn machines.

It burned the popcorn no matter what setting we put it on.

  


I'd take the planet over the pool any day.

You've never known sorrow until you've been in there with Ray.

Also never liked popcorn.

  


Hm, why's that?

The Ray thing.

Also the not liking popcorn thing if you're feeling extra giving today. I thought everyone liked popcorn.

  


He has this speedo that he wears and refuses anything else. Also he can't swim and handily forgets each and every time.

Have you ever saved a drowning cat? Think that, but on a much larger, much louder scale.

And popcorn has a good taste I guess, but the kernels stuck in my teeth give me agita.

  


A laugh stumbles out of him.

I did not need that image in my life. Noted, though. Will never enter the pool while Corporal Ray is in the vicinity.

Thanks for the tip.

So, uh. How has everything been? You know, like. Work. And life. And things.

  


Small talk, Sam, really?

A huff of almost amusement escapes him.

Peachy keen.

Probably the first time he's lied to this man's face. Screen. Whatever.

Fitting into your new role?

  


Well.

I mean.

Can I be honest with you?

  


Sure, shoot.

  


It's _weird._

Ray hasn't yelled at me even one time. And I've had dinner every night.

I'm plumping up. It's a travesty.

  


I can say with complete honesty. You are not 'plumping up'.

But yeah, I told ya. We're the good guys here.

Your old CO got canned by the way. You're welcome.

  


Wait what?

...

For real?

  


Mhm.

I'm fairly certain the whole Terminal is under investigation. But you didn't hear it from me.

  


You.

Are.

My knight in shining armor.

Which reminds me. The _Nice Knights?_ Who came up with that name and also why.

  


He laughs, shaking his head. Genuine, for the first time in a hot minute.

I'll give you one guess.

  


See, I'm having trouble figuring out if it came from some pure, innocent, squeaky clean part of Corporal Ray's impeccably pristine soul ...

Or if it's a result of your devious hand.

  


I wanted to find any of those synonyms for him to be wrong, but I actually can't and that makes me viscerally angry.

You also only get one guess on that answer.

  


It was you.

  


It was me.

  


Chances he'll listen to a petition to rename my platoon to something slightly less ... that?

  


Only if I sign, which I never will.

Congrats, looks like you're my knight after all.

  


Technically I'm Ray's knight, but I staunchly refuse to take up the moniker of "nice."

And you're mean.

  


You've become a hussy, apparently.

Didn't see that one coming.

  


_Hussy._ As if I have any say in who owns me.

Ridiculous.

  


Ew, don't put it like _that._

  


I signed a contract and everything. It's official.

  


When you say it like that it feels dirty.

  


Chuckles, softly.

What? I'm just saying you and Corporal Ray are in charge of two platoons of men who are obligated to do whatever you order them to do.

I don't understand where your mind is, Isaac.

Uh.

Can I still call you that?

  


When he reads his name on the screen, a voice echoes it in the back of his mind. He misses it. Constantly.

You know the drill, just not in public.

I'm still your superior officer out there.

  


_Out there._

But we're friends here, right?

  


A sigh. Which feels worse? Having nothing at all, or having to endure this?

Yeah, Sam. We're friends here.

  


Wow. Secret friendship. Hiding in stairwells to share jokes. Meeting behind the bleachers to exchange packs of beer.

I'm into it.

So, I have a question.

  


You've given me enough beer to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.

Let's have it.

  


Where's the shooting range on this damn station?

I swear I get lost every time I step outside of my room. It took me two hours to find my way back today.

  


I seriously doubt your sense of direction is that bad, mister photographic memory.

  


I'm trying to make a mental map of the entire place and am approaching each location from a new angle to extend my map.

Also I'm absolutely sticking my tongue out at you right now.

  


Careful where you wag that tongue around here, Ortez. You just might lose it.

Really though, you don't know where the range is?

  


I don't much appreciate your empty threats.

And yeah. I've found 12 branching hallways, 23 doors that buzzed red at me so I don't believe I have clearance, the pool, the garden, and mess hall.

_Your room._

But no gun range.

To be fair, there are several levels of the Echelon I haven't explored yet.

  


_Empty_ threats?

I don't suppose you know me as well as you thought.

It's on the fifth floor. Can you follow simple directions, or do you need an escort?

  


I have a hard time believing a man who got my previous CO fired for sending his platoon to bed without dinner multiple times, will literally cut off my tongue.

And I don't need an escort. But ... I would appreciate some company?

  


I didn't say I'd be the one to do it. I got some connections, y'know.

At the mention of company, however, he clams up a bit. Its ... difficult. To look at Sam.

And certainly not because of the reason the guy had thought before, which caused him to conceal his face for the longest time.

Alright, which one of your little gang do you want? I'll give them the directions.

  


Sucks in a breath. It had been a long shot.

Is it possible to send yourself those directions?

If not, then ... I'm fine alone. Really.

  


This guy is like a kicked puppy, really.

Isaac sighs, knowingly signing himself up for even more torture. This time in the form of that body which he has most certainly seen below the clothes it wears. Those bright grey eyes that seem to look through him.

Maybe I can make some time.

To show you the way.

  


Yeah?

Hope. That dangerous bug burrowing in his chest all over again. It's nothing. Isaac's just being nice.

I would like that.

Uh. Just. Whenever you're free? I have classes and PT in the mornings, but am usually done after noon.

  


He knew he should've deleted the pictures from his phone. Isaac guiltily exits out of the widow, Sam's shirtless torso fading away. Hadn't been able to resist once his mind brought it up.

Tomorrow, then.

To get it over with.

  


Alright. Tomorrow.

  



	15. Scene XV

Have you seen Jericho around lately?

  


Not exactly an expected message. He's still a little sore over that particular subject, actually.

What, he's not attached to your hip?

  


No.

I think I've lost him?

  


How do you lose a grown man?

He thinks to Ray and immediately redacts that.

He hasn't been on mission lately. I'm sure he's around.

  


Well. I'm ... a little concerned.

He mentioned seeking out a "beast" on the station?

But that can't be right because that's ridiculous. There is no beast.

  


... How could he have possibly gotten that information?

That is classified.

Did he say who he heard that from?

  


...

You're telling me there _is?_

  


What part of classified do you not get?

  


I don't know where he got the information, I thought he was talking out of his ass.

Isaac, this is bad.

  


How did I get stuck with the _troublemaker?_

Exasperated, he resigns himself to playing nanny for Sam's friend. His attractive, charismatic, _handsy_ friend.

Relax. I'll get him, give him some bitch work as punishment. Curiosity won't kill the cat this time.

  


No, not like, not that kind of bad.

He thinks back on all the conversations he's ignored. How most of what Jericho said to him tends to go in one ear and out the other. But a few snippets remain, of Jay talking about some magnificent creature he's made friends with.

Sam just assumed he was telling stories.

It's not an animal, is it? It's an alien.

  


Okay, what kind of bad are you getting at?

What do you know?

  


He shakes his head.

Did you ever ask about that suitcase?

  


No I didn't want to hear about the stupid suitcase.

Now, I seriously need to know how much you know about this because it's a _security breach._

  


Jesus why doesn't Isaac just _listen_ for once? It's not like Sam had asked him to check into that suitcase just to hurt the guy's feelings.

He's a xenophile, alright? Doesn't like humans, just aliens. And you would've known that if you just asked about the damn suitcase because it's full of _alien dildos._

If this "creature" hasn't killed him already, then Jericho's probably.

I don't know.

He sounds infatuated. I just thought it was some long-running joke. Christ.

  


...

Oh.

Welp. He really didn't see that one coming.

Now I really wanna see inside that suitcase.

Though really it's much more of a problem now than he'd originally thought.

  


And now I really want to see this classified "beast" that you kept secret from me.

  


Seriously, I'm getting you a framed copy of the page in the dictionary where CLASSIFIED is defined.

  


Tell me how to get clearance.

  


You can't.

I don't even have clearance.

  


But it sounds cool and now I'm disappointed.

  


First you're worried about your friend getting dicked down by an alien and now it sounds cool?

Mixed signals, big guy.

  


Not _that._

Nox, I mean. The way Jericho has described him.

Wish I'd been paying more attention.

Have you seen him?

  


I haven't seen it, no.

Nox?

Is that what he calls it?

How did that shithead get down there, anyway? We are going to have some very strong words when I see him next.

  


That's what he said the alien's name is.

And I have no idea how he got down there. But ... try not to be too harsh on him, okay? I actually think he means well. At least this time.

  


I just want to figure out what he's up to and how he's gotten away with it.

And possibly where he gets his dildos made, though that's for a friend.

  


Please do not send me alien dildos that is not where my tastes lie.

  


I'm not sending you anything, ya prude.

  


You explicitly said the information was for a friend.

  


Okay for one, you're not my only friend.

And for two you're dense as shit.

  


I knew you were talking about yourself, Isaac.

  


You're still dense and I still have friends.

And I'm about to have at least one more.

  


What does that mean?

  


Classified information, sorry bout it.

Need to know basis only.

  


The thing is, Sam knows what Isaac is talking about. Can imagine the coy tone, that teasing grin. A “friend” made of silicone, in a particular shape. But despite knowing it’s little more than a tease, the thought of Isaac actually finding _someone else_ flashes through his head suddenly and it—

Well, it sucks.

Sam's fingers clench around his phone. He has no right and no reason to feel a sharp jolt of hurt press through his chest at this possibility. Isaac is his friend. Nothing more. Sam isn't even into men to begin with, so what does it matter?

Alright.

He clams up in the face of his own theoretical musings.

  


What do you mean by that alright?

  


What do you mean "what do you mean"?

I'm complying with your assessment. Classified.

He should be ... doing better. They're already on tense terms. It's Sam's job to diffuse. To show that he can be a good friend for Isaac. To prove his worth.

No matter how rough and bedraggled it's gotten him these past couple months. How bone deep tired. How lonely.

It's up to him to push on, and this? Is unacceptable behavior.

But he can't stop the deep drop his heart has taken.

  


I feel like ...

_This used to be so easy._

_You don't know me anymore._

_Something's wrong._

Never mind.

  


You feel like what?

  


Confused.

Like I pissed you off somehow.

  


Sam deflates. Rubs a weary hand through his hair.

I

I'm just tired.

Down to his marrow.

You didn't do anything.

  


I know the feeling.

Are we gonna send out a rescue team for Jay?

  


If he isn't back by tomorrow he's either eloped or gotten eaten.

So. We can wait. He's not really the sort of man who needs rescuing anyways.

  


He does give off that vibe.

Guess I should start looking for a scout sniper replacement.

  


Why does he feel so ... ?

Guess so.

I know a few people. I could list some suggestions.

  


Alright.

What's wrong with you all the sudden?

Tell me, and don't make me make it an order.

  


The collapsed feeling in his chest condenses, compresses, until it becomes a black hole. Sam snaps, eyes coldly narrowed at his phone, approaching Isaac with outright venom for perhaps the first time in all the months they've known each other.

All the sudden?

Months ago, he'd been snatched from his bed in the middle of the night and dragged away from the one person who made him feel ...

And upon his return, that one person had told him they had no choice but to let go of him. That he could have been dead. That it was unsafe to get this close.

But Sam never really got a choice either. Taken. Worried out of his mind. And then abandoned.

He's been doing what he can to build back some sort of bridge he'd never burned in the first place, but he wasn't lying. He's _tired._

And now he's pretty sure Isaac is ... Moving on. From him.

Making another choice that Sam has no say in, and no right to care. Yet he does.

He does.

He has for months.

I can assure you it is not "all the sudden." _Sir._

  


Fine.

That's what he gets for fucking caring. For trying to set aside all his worries for his own well being, for Sam's. Just to be somewhat close again.

He craves it, like water in the desert. Like sun and rain and oxygen.

I'll make sure to give less of a shit next time.

  


I doubt that number can dip into the negative.

  


Don't even come at me with that you know that I.

You know what.

Sure _okay._

  


I don't believe I know anything anymore.

About you

About

_Us._

  


This had to happen okay?

I know you don't get it but it's for the best.

I'm trying to look out for you too y’know.

  


_Why?_

He stands suddenly from his desk. The chair falls back and clatters on the floor.

Why did it have to happen?

Why do you think I don't _understand?_

I'm not a child. I've already lost someone before.

It clicks for him, then. Sam rubs a hand over his face. The next message is typed out much more slowly.

I know the difference between necessity and fear.

  


Messages come rolling in one by one and each of them holds a very specific ire. All but the last two.

_I've already lost someone before._

Isaac's breath catches in his throat. It strikes him suddenly that maybe he's the one who doesn't understand after all.

I'm sorry, Sam.

And he means it. For everything. Deflates, curling up in his bunk. Eyes staring, unseeing, at the wall in front of him.

  


I don't need your pity.

The frustration doesn't taper off, but changes course, in a way. Doesn't stare Isaac down so harshly.

For all the times Sam had apologized to Isaac, this is the first "sorry" Sam's gotten in return.

He swallows tightly. His throat contracts in a way that makes his body feel foreign to him.

  


I don't pity you, you fucking shithead.

I'm _sorry._

  


Still standing stiff as a board, Sam swallows over and over around the lump in a tight throat, reading Isaac's message until it's good and burned into his skull.

It feels cathartic to see the words. But Sam doesn't know what they mean. What it means for him, or them.

If this is an ending or a beginning.

I

At this point I don't even ... know

What

You are referring to.

Sorry about them? About this conversation? For kicking him to the curb? Sorry that Sam's lost someone in the past? What is Isaac even sorry about?

Questions whirl through Sam's head. The hand rubbing along his face pauses, coming up to cover his scar like an old habit.

  


All of it.

What I've said and done I didn't.

Think it through, maybe.

I don't know what I'm doing. I fucking died when you left and I just ... 

That feeling made me ...

Christ.

  


_Oh._

His mouth goes dry.

It isn't the first time in this whole debacle that Sam has considered Isaac's inexperience with close relationships.

But it is the first time the guy has come across as so _young._ Unsure.

Scared.

The person I loved before ... died.

I know the feeling of loss.

But for you to stand there, within arm's reach, alive and breathing and _well,_ and still lost to me, I

There is so much he can't say, so much to be read between the lines. But maybe the most important he's trying to get across is: _I've felt that pain before. I knew the risks. And I still wanted you._

  


I

I mean I didn't know.

I didn't even think of it ... like that.

It's fucking terrifying, yeah, but to know that Sam's felt it. Gone through everything Isaac's been thinking about, and still come out of it on the other end with room in his chest for _Isaac_ of all people.

I've never felt anything for anyone, you know? Nothing. Until you.

I can't go three fucking minutes without thinking about you, it makes me feel crazy okay?

I just.

Don't want you to go.

  


Overwhelmed. That's it. Sam stares at his phone and sees the clear evidence that Isaac, his superior, a clever officer with a calculating mind and a cool head in the field, is _overwhelmed_ by this.

By them, his own emotions, all of it. These are things Sam ... should have more thoroughly taken into consideration.

_I just don't want you to go._

It calms the wild feeling in his heart, an antidote to the sordid poison that had been trying to seep in.

Of course you didn't know, Isaac. I never told you.

Gentle, now. The rage from moment's earlier disappears in a flash, like the floor pulled out from under him, leaving an empty spot that has Sam reaching out quietly toward Isaac, hoping this man is still willing to fill it.

And I

I never went anywhere.

I'm right here.

Still wondering if you actually know what that last F in BFF stands for.

Tries for light. He needs a little light. He's shaken through to his core. Hadn't realized ... he's Isaac's first emotional connection. _Truly._ And what that meant for the man.

  


Obviously I'm a bit confused about it.

Feels the tension over the line putter out slowly, replacing with warmth.

  


With the desk chair still toppled over in the middle of the floor, Sam drops onto the edge of his bed with a relieved sigh, hand falling into his lap.

I'm willing to tutor you, if that's what it takes.

_I want to help you understand how you feel._

  


And just how would that go, huh?

It's all very ... much.

But he's here for this. He can't just give it up, been there, tried that. We all see how that's played out.

  


We will begin with a dictionary. You can point out "classified" to me, since it's alphabetically first, then I will point out "forever" to you.

He's exhausted. Absolutely. But for the first time in a very long time, Sam imagines he can see the clouds parting.

He's chasing that one soft beam of light that peeks through—no matter where it lands.

  


A laugh, something quiet, barely there.

Speaking of. Seriously, you think Jericho is alright?

I don't want to have to look for a new recruit.

  


I think he fell in love with it.

So. Physically, alright, but the man really needs a Psych Eval.

Half joking. But only half.

  


...

You're joking, right?

Tell me you’re joking.

  


I'm mostly joking.

Pretty much.

But then again I assumed his stories of the beast were all tall tales to begin with, so the possibility remains.

  


It's real.

But as far as I know it's nothing but an animal.

Sounds like your boy thinks a little differently.

  


Hm.

No, it's not an animal.

Jericho is a xenophile and a deviant, but not to _that_ degree.

  


So.

We should follow him.

I want to see.

  


You want to see the creature, or see how Jericho breached security?

Because if it's the first option I could just ask him to let us tag along, you know.

  


I want to know how he's getting down there.

  


Will he get in trouble for it?

Like, a bad amount of trouble.

For as ridiculous a person as Jericho is, Sam ... can't bring himself to do anything that would actually hurt the guy.

  


If anyone but us finds out?

Yeah. It could be bad.

  


_Anyone but us._

You aren't going to report him?

  


What?

No.

Why would I?

  


Hm.

Maybe I haven't been paying enough attention since I got here.

Relying on what I know of you, and making assumptions on what I don't.

But there is so much more to learn. I will be more attentive.

  


To be fair.

I've been avoiding you.

So. There's that.

  


Sure.

But a good sniper doesn't need his target to hand him a map of the outpost.

Does this mean you won't be avoiding me anymore, by the way?

  


I mean.

No.

I don't want to.

  


He's warmed, immediately. Flops back onto his bed like a stupid giddy teen, phone propped upright on his chest.

That makes me very happy.

  


That one little sentence warns him from the inside out. He feels ... light. For the first time in a long time.

Yeah well, you know that's what I live for, big guy.

  


I'm learning.

Lips twitch with a half-formed smile.

  


Me too, apparently.

  


Then we'll do it together.

  



End file.
